Disappointment
by HowObjectionable
Summary: In which the life of the elder von Karma daughter is explored.
1. Beginning

**Klara is a character that has taken root in my brain and will not go away. I can't really say much else except that I own nothing, not even Klara, who is technically 1 percent canon. Oh, and there will be another chapter or two.**

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**In which there is the Beginning**

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Klara von Karma was a disappointment to her father from the moment she was born. The most prominent reason for this was, of course, her gender. How could a _girl _carry on the von Karma line? Nonetheless, Manfred decided he could still train her for the courtroom; she could still have a promising career.

If he'd have known how _much _of a disappointment the girl would grow up to be, he would have probably had her drowned at birth.

* * *

Klara's mother's name was long forgotten in the family by the time Klara was five years old. She distinctly remembered a face, her Mama, a weak, frail woman who had been unable to stay in the von Karma household a moment longer. She remembered being wakened as Mama came to say goodbye to her, a year and a half ago, saying simply "_Klara, mein Liebling, bitte verzeihen Sie mir_" My darling, please forgive me.

Her Mama had left then, without another word, and had never been seen or heard from since.

Klara was brought up almost entirely by a maid who went by the name of Gertrude. 'Gertie', as Klara always called her, was fifty eight years old when Klara's mother left, a cheerful old woman who never stopped talking. She was the mother-aunt-grandmother figure in Klara's life, the one who had most influence in how the girl was raised.

Klara only vaguely knew about her Papa. When the servants gossiped, which they did often, they talked in hushed voices when her Papa's name was mentioned. She had only met him a handful of times.

Then, suddenly, at five years old, she was called to his study.

"Klara." Manfred von Karma acknowledged the small girl's entrance, his voice neither pleased nor critical, simply businesslike, though Klara was at the time too young to know what that was.

"Hallo, Papa." She said nervously, standing with her hands behind her back, trying desperately to make a good impression. That morning, Gertie had gone all out, making sure that the little girl was washed until she practically sparkled, ironing one of the prettiest little green and white striped frocks Klara owned and beating the child's usually wild dark blue curls into submission in the form of pigtails with little red ribbons on the end, contrasting with her dress slightly, but achieving an overall desirable effect. At least, that's how Gertie put it.

Manfred flinched away from the familiarity of his daughter's words. He paused for a moment, surveying her intently, before speaking. "I intend to train you in the ways of prosecuting." He informed her without preamble. "You are old enough now. You will have lessons three times weekly in addition to the usual lessons that Gertrude gives you, and you will accompany me to court in a month's time so that-"

"Oh, no, Papa." Klara objected mildly. "I can't do that."

Manfred paused, surprised, unaccustomed to being interrupted. "Excuse me?"

"I can't be a prosecutor. You see, I'm going to be a writer." At only five years old, Klara was already writing little stories and showing them off to everyone. Gertie said she had a gift. "I can show you if you like! Do you want to hear, Papa? Once upon a time-"

"Stop this nonsense at once." Manfred demanded, getting to his feet, and Klara shrank back, intimidated by the man towering over her. "You _will not _waste your life _writing. _That is a foolish occupation, one which holds no standing and is likely to fail at any time. You _will _be a prosecutor, and you _will _do as you are told."

"But Papa, I…"

"Silence. You will do well to remember this. A von Karma is perfect, and I expect nothing less from you."

With that, he dismissed her, confident that he would now be getting his way.

* * *

Klara was eleven years old when her father remarried. There was no doubt in her mind as to why he did so – he needed another child to carry on his monstrous legacy. Almost past childhood now, Klara had begun to see her Papa as he really was; a cold hearted tyrant, caring for nothing but himself and his perfect win record.

She had refused to attend his lessons as a child. Even when _forced _to, she would sit stubbornly on her chair, determinedly not taking in a word. As she got older, she became even more stubborn, especially after he was foolish enough to make her attend one of his cases when she was eight. The defendant was _clearly _not guilty, and the witness was likely the one at fault. The defence had pointed this out, but had lacked the evidence to prove anything. Her father, on the other hand, miraculously produced irrefutable incriminating evidence that had the defendant in for life before you could say 'Objection'.

Klara had wept that night. She couldn't believe that even her _father _could be so cold; she was eight years old and didn't know any better. The only comfort Gertie could give her was that at least the death penalty wasn't around in this country.

Now Klara was eleven, she knew that her father had gotten many other innocent people imprisoned, and that a lot of the time the evidence was forged. She kept mum about this; Gertie always hushed her and, besides, who would listen to an eleven year old girl? She also knew that when her father prosecuted in other countries, America being one of the most prominent, he sent more that one innocent person to their death.

Manfred's new wife, Lucinda, was only around fifteen years older than Klara was herself. She, like the vaguely remembered 'Mama', was thin and pale, a seemingly weak woman with the constant air of being a complete pushover. Klara paid her no mind at first.

Lucinda, however, was _nice. _She cared about Klara, it seemed. She would even play with her sometimes, which was good for Gertie who wasn't as young as she used to be and couldn't often run around. She complimented Klara's writing, even helped her sometimes.

Within two months of their marriage, Lucinda was pregnant and Manfred was thrilled. Klara knew that her Papa would be hoping for his son and heir, so she concentrated all her efforts on wishing for a sister. Lucinda, it seemed, wanted a little girl too.

With Lucinda around as almost a mother, and Gertie still there for her, and Manfred away most of the time, Klara felt her life had never been better. Lucinda and Gertie had arranged between them that Klara would now attend a proper school, albeit an all-girls school where manners were as important as knowledge. Klara was slowly but surely making some friends, although she never asked them home.

Then, as they tend to do, things went horribly wrong.

Gertie and Amalie, another one of the maids, were discussing it when Klara overheard.

"…Poor dear, she's so young…"

"The child will be heartbroken…"

"…still be saved if…still in her first trimester…"

"Lucinda would _never_, poor thing…"

It took her a while, but Klara soon understood. The baby was causing problems and Lucinda…

Klara cornered Lucinda later in the day. "Lucy, are you ill?" she asked innocently.

Lucinda's face was perfectly impassive. "No, love, I'm not." She replied.

"But the _baby_!_"_

Lucinda blinked. Then she sighed. "Ah, Klara. I didn't want you to know about that."

"Are you going to _die?_"

Lucinda smiled. "The doctor said there was a chance, sweetheart, but a very slim one. I promise you, I'm going to keep going as long as I can."

In Klara's opinion, that didn't look like long. The woman was thin, drawn out, pale. She'd always been sickly looking - though pretty in her way - and now she looked worse.

Klara opened her mouth to make her views known, but Lucinda spoke again. "Aren't you looking forward to meeting your new little sister? I bet she'll be pretty."

"She _will. _Clever, too. Cleverer than Papa, even!" Klara agreed distracted. After all, despite everything, she was still a child, and imagining had always been her favourite game.

* * *

Lucinda gave birth in June 1999. There were what seemed hundreds of midwifes and other medical staff rushing about the whole time, commissioned by Manfred to make sure the baby was delivered safely.

Klara assumed this meant that his wife could go to hell so long as she lived long enough to produce his child. She was now twelve, and as stubborn as ever.

After what seemed like forever, a small, high pitched wail was heard from the room where Lucinda was having her baby – for she had refused to go to hospital – and a doctor came out to where Manfred and Klara were both sitting, both resolutely ignoring the other.

"The baby is completely healthy." The doctor said in a tired voice. "A girl."

Klara beamed, elated, watching as a grimace appeared on her father's face briefly.

"But there have been some problems with your wife…" Here the doctor lowered his voice to talk to Manfred and Manfred alone, so, contrarily, Klara listened harder. From what she gathered, Lucinda wasn't doing too well.

"Would you like to see her?" the doctor asked Manfred, normal tones again.

"The child?"

"The mother."

Manfred paused, considering. "I will see her later, perhaps." He said, his voice indifferent as usual. "The child is healthy?"

"Yes. But, sir…"

"Later." Manfred replied. "I will be in my study. Do not interrupt me unless it is urgent."

The doctor stared after the man, gawping. Klara knew how he felt. Even she couldn't quite believe that his wife _dying _was having so little effect on him.

Dying.

Lucinda.

"May _I _see her?" she asked the man.

He stared at her. "Heavens, child, I don't think-"

"I _demand _to see her." Klara interrupted, her voice ringing with authority. She hated it. However, it worked, and the doctor stood aside.

* * *

Lucinda lay there on the bed, looking weaker than ever, as the nurses and doctors bustled about her. "Ah, Klara. You have your little sister, dear, aren't you pleased?"

Klara was stunned at the frailty of her voice. "Yes, Lucy…" she replied quietly, approaching the bedside and ignoring the disapproving looks. "Where is she?"

"That's what I want to know. I haven't seen her."

Klara frowned. "Excuse me." She said to a nurse. "Why hasn't she seen her baby yet?"

"Well, dear, given your mother's state we don't think that's a good idea." The nurse hedged, unhappy to be singled out.

"Please don't patronise me." Klara said calmly. The authority was back again. "I would like to see my sister, please. And Lucy deserves to see her daughter."

The nurse looked like she wanted to argue, and then decided against it. She hurried off to get the baby, and Klara looked back to Lucinda, who was smiling at her.

"You're just like a little princess" Lucinda whispered.

"My little sister will be, too. Especially with you looking after her." Klara replied.

"Klara, you know that I might-"

"_Might_ has no bearing on this world, Lucy." Klara interrupted firmly. "Look, here comes the baby."

The nurse carefully lowered the child into her mother's arms. Lucinda and Klara both stared at the baby in wonder, the tiny little thing, chubby and pink with a little tuft of hair on her head. As they watched, the child yawned and closed one of her hands around Lucinda's finger.

"What will her name be?" Klara asked in hushed awe.

"I want to name her Franziska." Lucinda admitted. "After my grandmother. What do you think?"

"It's a _beautiful _name." Klara replied. "Baby Franziska."

Lucinda winced horribly suddenly, and she was surrounded in an instant by doctors. The nurse tried to take the baby out of her arms, but she held tighter.

"Lucy, are you in pain?" Klara asked anxiously.

"It's…nothing…" Lucinda replied through gritted teeth.

The nurse tried to pull the child away again, but Lucinda refused to release her.

"Give her to me." Klara said, frightened. "You need to let the doctors look after you."

After a moment, Lucinda complied, passing the baby into Klara's arms. "Promise me you'll look after her, dear." She said feebly.

"_You _will." Klara replied instantly.

"_Promise _me." Lucinda insisted.

"…yes, I will." Klara whispered, the tears running freely as she was bustled out of the room, her sister in her arms.

* * *

Klara took the baby up to her father's study. She didn't bother knocking, and he didn't look up as she entered.

"Papa, I have the baby with me." She said quietly.

He glanced up. "There are no problems, I trust." It wasn't a question. It sounded more like a _threat._

"With Franziska? None."

"Franziska?" he repeated, sounding vaguely curious.

"The baby. Lucinda named her."

Manfred looked back down at his work. "Well, I suppose it saves me the trouble later."

"I think she's dying, Papa."

"The baby?"

"Your _wife._"

He looked straight at her then, and Klara read his expression. _That's no concern of mine, _his eyes seemed to say. "If that is all, you may leave." He said.

Klara turned away, feeling suddenly numb. She glanced at the baby in her arms as the door swung shut behind her.

"I swear, my little Franziska. I will take care of you."

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Klara could not shelter her sister from her father. Her dear Gertie tried to help her, but the poor woman was sixty-six years old and was hardly in shape to be caring for a baby. She did what she could, of course.

Franziska was barely two years old when he father started drilling his propaganda into her head. Probably he couldn't bear the thought he might have produced another 'dud', and was taking steps to prevent the possibility.

Whenever her father left for America or another country to prosecute, Klara would do her best to try and interest her little sister in childish games, all of which were ignored. So Klara instead gave Franziska some lessons, in English and in German, while Gertie handled the other half of the small girl's learning.

December 30th, 2001, Klara read in the newspaper of her father's first ever penalty. It made her happy, but Franziska's little mouth set into a hard line when she heard the news.

Neither of them heard a word from their father until he returned out of the blue from his extended vacation – about which Klara was extremely dubious – and called them both to his study.

"There is to be a boy here. His father was the attorney who was killed in December. He is to live here with us. His name is Miles Edgeworth, and I believe he has aspirations to be a lawyer himself. That is all."

Klara was suspicious, of course – an act of charity for this poor orphaned boy from her _father?_

She didn't buy it. Not for a second.

* * *

June 2002, just after Franziska's birthday, Miles arrived. Klara took to him immediately. He was a polite, somewhat reserved little boy, though he also seemed like he would be very clever when she had a chance to get to know him. Of course, the boy didn't have much of an appetite for speech at the moment; his father had just died, but Klara would do her utmost to help him fit in.

She was worried about him. That first night, Franziska had _said _something to him, but Klara had no idea what it was. Miles had gotten progressively quieter since then, staying out of the way and never speaking unless spoken to.

Friedrich told her all boys got sulky and uncooperative at that age, though Klara didn't believe a word of it. Friedrich was her best friend – he had been since the day she snuck out of her posh school to the boy's school three blocks away with six other girls when she was eleven years old. For the last four years, he had been the one she'd complained to, the one who'd listened, the one who despised her father almost as much as she did.

Of course, most people thought they were dating. That was to be expected. However, no one was quite sure of the details of the relationship, not even them. Klara knew she liked Fritz – his nickname – in _that _way, and she was almost certain he felt the same but being fifteen and seventeen respectively and horrendously awkward, neither of them had taken the first step.

Fritz told her that Miles would be fine, just so long as she kept an eye on him. She said she would, of _course _she would, but she'd also promised to keep an eye on Franziska and look how well _that _went.

* * *

When Miles had been living in Germany exactly a year, Klara had to admit to herself that she'd failed. Again. The boy refused to play at all and spent the majority of his time in Manfred's study with Franziska, learning to prosecute.

To prosecute! Miles had wanted to be a _defence _attorney! He was so different from when he came, and to be honest, it was scaring Klara.

The postman arrived at the door that morning, carrying two parcels – both for her father – six letters and a postcard from a distant aunt in France. Klara sorted through the letters absentmindedly. Five of them were for her father, but the sixth…

In childish writing, scrawled across the envelope, was the name 'Miles Edgeworth', with their address scribbled in tiny writing in a corner. Curiosity beat conscience, and Klara carefully opened it.

_Dear Miles, _it read in bright blue coloured pencil, _Are you even getting our letters? Maybe they gave us the wrong address at the school. They said you'd gone to live with that prosecutor guy. Won't he let you write back? We've sent like a million! Come on, Miles, say something._

The writing changed then, messier and in crayon. _Yeah, man, you need to write back! Nick's going crazy over here! Dude, is it true you're living in a HUGE mansion? Can we come see?_

The letter was signed 'From Phoenix and Larry'. Klara had heard Miles talk about them a few time, months ago. '_I wonder how Phoenix is,' 'My friend Phoenix was really clever, he'd be good at this,' _that sort of thing. She only twice remembered Larry being mentioned, both times in comparison to someone doing something particularly stupidly.

Klara located Miles in his room, dumping her father's mail back on the doorstep. "Miles, dear, you have a letter." She said in English. Although Miles knew most basic German now, she liked to talk to him in English most of the time. It made it easier for him. Neither of the other two von Karmas had the patience.

The slight smile on his face at her entering froze and turned into a frown. "Did you read it?" he demanded.

"Yes." Klara replied, taken aback. "Yes, I did, and-"

"You had no _right_!" the boy yelled, looking close to tears.

There was a silence then, and Klara slowly approached him. "Miles, I'm sorry." She said quietly. "Please don't cry."

He did anyway, though desperately tried to hide it. "It's okay." He muttered. "I don't mind, really. I just _wish _he'd stop writing. It makes it so _difficult._"

Klara frowned. "You mean this Phoenix?"

"Yes, and Larry too, sometimes. They keep writing."

"What do you do with the letters?"

"I usually burn them." The coldness of his words shocked Klara.

"What about it makes what difficult, Miles?" Klara asked, crouching down to his level and surreptitiously putting an arm around him.

"I don't want to remember." He replied simply.

"Miles, dear, you can't simply forget. I know how much it hurts, I _know, _but-"

"No!" Miles said sharply. "No, no, Klara, you're _wrong. _Forgetting my father isn't all I need to do. I need to forget _everything._"

"What? Why?"

"My old life will make me weak, Klara." His tone turned horribly condescending, seemingly unconsciously. "I don't have _time _for friends; I have to study if I want to be a good prosecutor."

Klara felt a shiver down her spine as she recognized both the voice and the words; those of her father. "Who told you that?!" she demanded through gritted teeth.

"Mr von Karma did."

Suspicions confirmed, Klara got to her feet. It was about time she and her father had a little talk.

* * *

"Who is it?" Manfred didn't look up from his work as the door opened. He sounded incredibly irritated, like whoever answered would find themselves impaled on a spike minus their heads.

"Papa, it's your daughter."

"Franziska?"

"No, the disappointment."

"Klara." Manfred acknowledged, still not looking up.

"We need to talk. Please come here."

Whatever Manfred heard in Klara's tone, he stood and approached her. He no longer towered over her as he had when she was five years old; Klara was a tall girl, 5'6" to her father's 5'8" and was almost eye to eye with him.

"Whatever it is, hurry it up. Franziska and the boy have a lesson with me in precisely three minutes."

"Franziska and '_the boy' _are what I want to talk to you about, actually." Klara replied, gritting her teeth. "I can't stand back and let you do this anymore, Papa."

"Excuse me?" Manfred's eyebrow raised, she had intrigued him.

"You cannot raise them like this anymore. They need a childhood. I won't have it. Miles just told me what you said to him about his life. You _can't _do this to them!" Klara saw her father getting increasingly annoyed, but stood her ground. "He lost his _father, _Papa, and…"

"Be quiet, you silly girl. Don't talk about things you don't understand." Manfred snapped. Klara noticed that the very mention of Miles' father had struck a nerve, a faint allusion to her suspicions which she dared not even think of.

"I understand my brother and sister." Klara replied firmly.

"The boy isn't your brother. He's no concern of yours."

"Miles is as much my brother as Franziska is my sister." Klara said angrily. How _dare _he? "I've taken care of him since he came here! And Franziska. She's a relation by blood, and she is my sister, but _I _have been her parent more than you ever have!"

"I told you to be quiet!" Manfred's vice was rising now. It was the first time he's cared enough to change his tone when talking to her.

"I told you no!" Klara shrieked back, her voice high with a mixture of fear and anger. "You can't bring them up as your pawns in your sick little game, Papa, I won't let you!"

"I do not play games, Klara. I warn you, leave. Now." Manfred's voice had lowered, but was now, if anything, more threatening.

"You're _evil_." Klara whispered. Then, louder. "You're an evil old man, Manfred von Karma, and you're trying to raise them in the same way." She was shouting again, on a roll now, unable to stop. "You don't even _like _Miles, do you? Are you raising him as a prosecutor because he wanted to defend? Is this a twisted attempt to get revenge on the man who ruined your _pathetic _perfect win record? Are you _still _scared of Gregory Edgeworth, even beyond the grave? Well? _Are you?_"

Klara stumbled backwards then as her father's hand slapped across her face. She grabbed his desk to stay upright, reeling from the shock. He had _hit _her. She straightened herself up, shaking slightly.

Manfred did not look sorry. If anything, he looked mildly triumphant. How sickening.

His expression changed when Klara slapped him right back.

She was nowhere near as strong as he was. It could not have possibly hurt him. Still, his face went from shock to anger. Klara braced herself, almost perversely curious to see what he would do to her next.

"Papa?" A shrill voice asked. Both Manfred and Klara's heads snapped around to see Miles and Franziska standing at the door, gaping at the scene in front of them.

"What's going on?" Miles asked. His eyes moved between the two, and he took in Klara's face. She was sure her cheek was bright red; it was stinging like mad.

"Did he _hit _you?" he whispered.

"Yes, he did." Klara replied, her voice dull.

A stunned silence for a moment, then Franziska, still staring at her father, spoke. "Why?" she asked him.

"Sometimes, Franziska, people deserve it." Manfred replied calmly. Franziska's confusion cleared and she turned to look at her sister.

Klara stared back, then, suddenly, ran out of the room, hot tears falling down her face.

Her father could have slapped her a thousand time more, and it couldn't have hurt anywhere near as much as the look on Franziska's face at that moment.

* * *

Miles entered her room half an hour later. He stood in the doorway, watching as she shoved clothes from her wardrobe into a suitcase. She didn't notice him at first; she was on the phone.

"Fritz, I need to get out of here." She said.

Friedrich sounded tired and confused. It was too early for him to even be up yet on a Saturday. "Klara? What's wrong? Your Papa trying to shovel propaganda down your throat again?"

Klara told him what had happened in clipped, hurried tones, noticing Miles in the doorway and trying to wave him away.

Friedrich's voice was suddenly sober. "He _hit _you, Klara? That's serious. You should tell someone."

"Who? The police? Yes, because they'll even _try_ to take him down." Klara replied, sounding slightly hysterical.

"Do you need somewhere to stay? Mama won't mind." Fritz said, immediately cottoning on. "I'll come and pick you up, okay? Sit tight, sweetheart."

He hung up, undoubtedly rushing for his pride and joy, his shiny new car. Miles began to speak immediately. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, Miles." Klara replied distractedly.

"But…Franziska needs you here." Miles argued.

Klara smiled at him weakly. "Listen to me, dear; Papa won't lay a finger on Franziska. You, either. If he ever does, call me at Fritz's house, and _promise _me you won't tell _him _where I am."

Miles nodded dumbly, accepting the piece of paper with a number scribbled on it.

"I know I shouldn't leave. If you turn out like he wants you to it'll be my fault. But I _swear_ to you, I'll come back, I'll come for you and Franziska. But I have to leave. You understand, don't you?"

A horn sounded outside. She glanced out the window and spotted the sparkling green car; Friedrich was there, waiting.

Miles nodded again. "I understand." He whispered, although it was clear he didn't.

He helped her carry her suitcase downstairs in silence. She dragged it out of the door, and Fritz ran up to take it from her.

Miles looked up at the boy, still confused. "Are you going to look after Klara?" he asked.

Fritz smiled. "Yes, Miles, I promise I will." He replied, all the while looking anxious. He needn't be. Manfred would probably be glad to get rid of Klara, if he did notice.

"I _promise _I'll be back. Tell Franziska I love her." Klara said, quickly kissing Miles' cheek and hurrying away.

As she sat in the back of the car, watching her old home disappear behind her and her little brother become a dot in the doorway, she muttered one last sentence.

"_Meine Lieblinge, bitte verzeihen Sie mir_"

* * *

**Apologies for any errors in my German. Reviews are loved :3**


	2. Happiness

**I meant to have this up ages ago. Sorry~ In any case, I've been away and back and then away again. Not that that's an excuse…I'm not too fond of this chapter, but that's because I tend to be over-critical. Or maybe it isn't very good. You can judge that.  
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**Anyway, enjoy!**

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* * *

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**In Which There is Happiness.**

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* * *

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Klara didn't dare to return to the mansion she had been raised in for over a month. Instead, she stayed with Friedrich and his parents, finishing school and applying to university. She was hiding, and she knew it was pathetic, but when push came to shove she was _scared._

Sascha and Xaver Kirsche, Friedrich's parents, did not once complain about her being there. Both were in their fifties, with seven children in total, six of whom were currently scattered throughout the globe. All of them were male, and, consequentially, Sascha was absolutely thrilled to have Klara around the house.

"I always wanted a daughter." She said to Klara, about a week after she arrived. "A daughter-in-law as nice as you works just as well."

Klara had not bothered to correct her.

Xaver also seemed to like her. When she told him she was planning to become a writer, he insisted she show him her work. When she did so, he complimented it wildly then gave her the number of his friend in publishing. Aged sixteen, still easily embarrassed, Klara had thanked him then put the piece of paper away in the back of a drawer to be forgotten about.

* * *

It was August when she visited her brother and sister again. She had procrastinated long enough, but when she finally had Fritz drive her back, it was with expert precision. Every Wednesday at half past eleven, Manfred would start one of his lessons. So of course, that was exactly when the green car slid up alongside the mansion.

Klara's nerve almost failed her as she reached the front door. She glanced back at the car, but Fritz was simply glaring at her. _Get on with it, _his expression said. She took a deep breath and walked in. There was no need, she told herself, no need to feel so guilty. After all, like it or not, she was still a von Karma.

She walked through the hallway, conscious of the noise her shoes were making against the marble flooring. Upstairs, first, no, _second _door on the right. She had to be careful. Getting lost in here would simply be embarrassing.

Cautiously, Klara pushed the door open. There, inside. She saw them, standing at opposite sides of the room and glaring heavily at each other. Manfred stood in the middle of the two. Klara had seen this setup before. A courtroom setup. Judging by the sides, it was Franziska's turn to play defence attorney and she didn't look too happy about it.

"Objection!" Miles yelled, but whatever he was objecting to was forgotten as Klara walked into the room.

Three sets of eyes stared at her, and Klara stared right back. She determinedly was not showing any sort of emotion whatsoever on her face. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence. Then-

"Klara?" both Franziska and Miles spoke in unison, both sounding equally surprised.

Klara couldn't help it, her face relaxed into a smile. "Hello." She replied. "You needn't look so surprised, Miles. I told you I'd be back."

Ignoring her father's glare, Klara walked forward. "I've come to take you two out." She continued. "You can come and see where I'm living now, and we can go to the park or something. Don't you get bored stuck in here all day?"

The fact that they were both looking at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a third eye was both amusing and irritating. There was more silence, before Miles spoke, sounding hesitant. "That sounds nice, Klara, but we're…"

"Well I'm leaving now." Klara interrupted. "If you want to come, this is the time."

"Will you buy me ice cream?" Franziska asked. For some reason, this pleased Klara immensely. It was as if her sister was acting like the child she should be. What she didn't like was the fact the little girl seemed to immediately regret speaking.

"Yes, of course I will. But hurry up."

"Hold it." Manfred cut in. "You two will stay here and finish your lesson. Klara, you will leave this room now."

Klara had been expecting this. She smiled at him, something that seemed to catch her father off guard. "Really, Papa. That's what I was planning on doing. Come along, you two."

"They are not going anywhere with you."

"Oh, but they are."

"I forbid it. You are no longer welcome here. Go, now."

Klara sighed. "And if I don't? Will you hit me again, Papa? If Franziska and Miles want to come with me, will you hit them too?"

Manfred did not answer. Klara didn't give him a chance. She took Franziska by the hand, and then Miles. Before either of them could object, she had pulled them out of the room.

* * *

It was difficult to try to start a conversation with the two children in the back of the car. Miles looked extremely uneasy, and kept glancing behind him as if they were being followed, whereas Franziska simply sat with her arms folded across her chest, frowning.

"Miles, dear, relax." Klara sighed. Miles glanced at her once, then turned back to look out of the window.

Friedrich grinned at the two children in the rear-view mirror. "Why the frown, little missy von Karma?"

Franziska looked up, apparently startled. "My name is Franziska, not Missy." She replied uncertainly.

Fritz seemed to find this hilariously funny. He burst into peals of laughter, causing Miles to jump in alarm, something which Klara couldn't help but laugh at too. The two children stared at them, obviously wondering if they had taken leave of their senses.

Then Miles laughed. It was a tiny chuckle, quiet, almost unheard, but it was there.

Klara was thrilled.

"Don't be so foolish, little brother." Franziska scolded.

"Don't be so bossy, little missy." Fritz cut in before Miles could reply.

Franziska glared at him, folded her arms back across her chest and stared out of her window, looking impressive for one in a booster seat.

"Where are we going?" Miles asked quietly after a few minutes.

"Do you know how to play baseball, Miles?" Fritz asked.

"No, not really…"

"What about you, Missy?"

"My name is _Franziska."_

"Then it's only me that knows? Oh well, guess I'll have to teach you all, then."

"Baseball?" Klara asked, turning her head to stare at him. "Really, Fritz, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"What are you talking about? You said you wanted to learn."

"_I _did. It's Franziska I'm worried about." Klara replied, feeling slightly uneasy.

"I won't let her get hurt, Klara, you know that."

"It's not _her _getting hurt I'm worried about either."

* * *

Friedrich really seemed to be enjoying himself. He handed Miles the bat, laughing when the boy stumbled sideways under the weight, and showed him how to swing. Beside Klara, Franziska stood with a contemptuous frown on her little face.

"How foolish." She muttered.

"Really, Franziska, do _try _to be nice. Please?" Klara said. Franziska glared up at her, but Klara was satisfied by what she thought was a tiny nod.

About half an hour of fruitless effort later, Fritz called over to the two girls. "Alright, Missy, your turn."

Franziska ground her teeth, obviously frustrated, but walked forward without so much as a snide comment. She accepted the smaller bat, allowed Fritz to show her how to use it, and then waited for him to walk a bit further back so he could throw the ball.

Klara, perhaps a little stupidly, allowed herself to relax.

Fritz threw the ball and Franziska swung the bat wildly, predictably missing completely. She didn't look too happy. Friedrich came forward, probably to help the girl to adjust the way she was holding the bat. What he wasn't expecting was for her to swing the bat again full force against his lower half.

"Franziska!" Klara shouted, hurrying over to inspect the damage. Fritz was on his knees, apparently in quite a bit of pain. Franziska stood beside him, looking extremely triumphant. "Fritz, are you okay?" Klara asked anxiously.

"She's…stronger than she looks." He replied with a grimace.

"Franziska, why would you do that?" Klara demanded, rounding on her sister.

"Sometimes people deserve it." Franziska told her calmly.

Klara recoiled, hearing her father's words echoing out of the little girl. "No they don't." she said sharply. Beside her, Fritz got to his feet.

"Well," he began. "That certainly went better than expected. Nice aim, Missy."

"It's _Franziska_." The girl replied, but the triumphant smile had lessened slightly. Since Friedrich seemed to be making it all a big joke, Klara supposed she'd have to be satisfied with that.

* * *

Miles and Franziska, despite the start, seemed to enjoy the rest of the day. Klara got them both their ice cream, and introduced them to Sascha and Xaver, who both made a complete fuss of them both.

When Klara and Fritz were taking them home, they were all laughing. Even Franziska was giggling at the silly stories that Fritz was coming out with, some of which got a little too 'high-concept' for the two and had Klara warning him to behave himself.

As they pulled up in front of the Von Karma mansion, however, they found they were being waited on. Manfred von Karma stood in the doorway, a frown deeper than his customary grimace on his face and his arms folded across his chest.

Klara watched in the rear-view mirror as Miles shrunk back into his seat and Franziska sat up straight, frown reappearing, staring straight ahead.

Beside her, Fritz muttered a low oath. "Guess the secret's out, huh?" he muttered. "He'll know where you are, now."

"Watch your language in front of them." Klara replied, sounding much calmer than she was feeling – same as earlier, really. "It doesn't matter. Papa can't do a thing to you."

"It's hardly me I'm worried about, Klara."

Klara ignored him. Fritz sighed and stepped on the brake. "Wait here." She commanded. "I'll take them out to meet him."

She got out of the car before he could object, the two children trailing behind her. "Hallo, Papa." She greeted, waving and smiling.

"Inside. Now." Manfred barked at the two children, both of whom scurried inside without so much as a word.

"I'll see you two next week." Klara called after them. She turned to walk away, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait right there." Manfred demanded.

Klara spun around. "Get your hands off of me!" she demanded, taking a step backwards.

"You will not come back to this place. You will leave my home and not return, and you will leave Franziska and the boy alone." Manfred told her, turning back to the door. "You are no longer a daughter of mine."

"I was _never _your daughter." Klara replied, determinedly keeping her voice light. "But Franziska and _Miles _are my family, and as such, I will be back for them next week."

"I can not speak for the boy, but I know my daughter neither wants nor needs your interference. Goodbye."

Klara stood there as the door was slammed in her face.

_M__y daughter neither wants nor needs your interference._

Surely that wasn't true. That couldn't possibly be true. Franziska needed her, didn't she? Franziska wanted her there?

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the other way around. Surely not. Surely that wasn't true. Klara couldn't possibly be the one relying on her sister.

All she could see as she stumbled blindly back to the car was Franziska's disapproving frown.

Fritz didn't ask her what was wrong when she got back in the car. He didn't speak at all on the drive home, and didn't question her tears when they arrived.

She told him within five minutes of getting home, and waited for whatever critical thing he would say. It never came. Friedrich simply hugged her, muttered something soothing, and then started talking about something completely different. And that, Klara thought, was that.

* * *

She was wrong. Klara was wakened a week later by a loud banging at her door. "Klara! Wake up or we're going to be late!"

Klara sat up with a jolt, heading for the door and opening it. "Fritz? What are you talking about?"

He stood there, fully dressed, looking mildly impatient. "We've got to go if we're planning on taking little missy Franziska and your brother to see that movie anytime today." He replied with an air of impatience.

"I'm not going." Klara sighed.

Fritz blinked. "You…what? Not going?"

"No."

Friedrich surveyed her for a moment before speaking again. "Okay then. We won't go."

Klara stared. Since when did he let things go so easily? That wasn't normal.

"We won't go." Fritz repeated. "We'll let your father win."

Oh. So _that _was his game. "Fritz, I am a woman. Reverse psychology doesn't work on me."

"Fine, fine. We'll leave Miles and Franziska all alone with Manfred von Karma for the rest of their lives. See if _we _care!" Fritz's voice was still light as he turned to walk away.

Klara sighed. "Wait." She called. He span around, predictably grinning from ear to ear. "Give me ten minutes to get ready." She said.

* * *

The movie was awful, but Klara wasn't really watching it anyway. Franziska was, sitting poker-straight in her seat and determinedly following the plot. Miles looked totally bored, but he was still staring at the screen. Klara turned to see Fritz grinning at her, his stupid smile visible even in the darkened cinema.

"Told you." He whispered.

Klara didn't answer. There wasn't much you could say to that.

* * *

Every week, Klara and Friedrich would arrive at different times to pick up the two children, and pretty soon even Manfred had given up trying to stop them.

It was Christmas day, and snow was falling lightly onto the already covered ground. All six of Fritz's brothers were crowded into Sascha's small-ish house, but, miraculously, there was enough room for two more.

After regaling the children with presents – something Miles had missed out on last Christmas and that Franziska had never really experienced – and beong told that no, Sascha and Xaver did _not _need help in the kitchen, Klara and Fritz took the two outside.

"Let's have a snowball fight!" Fritz suggested.

"What? Have you totally lost it?" Klara demanded, receiving for her efforts a large snowball in her face.

Responsibility vanished, and she chased after her fleeing friend, catching sight of Franziska and Miles taking up cue and chucking snow at each other as she passed.

She scooped up some snow and threw it, hearing the satisfying squelching sound as it connected with the back of his head. He turned threw another as she approached, but she quickly dodged and it whistled past her head. Both were now just about collapsed with laughter.

"Truce?" Fritz called.

"Okay." Klara agreed. "For a moment or two."

They met in the middle of their makeshift battleground. Klara took the opporturtunity to promptly place her icy ball of snow that she'd lifted on the sly down his back. Fritz jumped about a mile. "You little witch!" he squealed, more high-pitched than Klara would have thought possible. Before she knew what was happening, he had tackled her to the ground, pinning her down in a snowdrift.

Silence.

Klara stared up at him. She knew what was coming next, and he knew it, too. This position made it inevitable, really. He was going to kiss her. Both hesitated for a moment, still as awkward as ever, but nothing could interrupt it, not now.

"Franziska, you can't use rocks!"

Except that.

Fritz helped her to her feet and they hurried around to where Franziska had apparently gotten bored of snow. Even as Klara rushed in to find a band-aid for Miles' bleeding arm, she couldn't help but feel slightly mutinous. Couldn't he have saved his scream for one more minute?

* * *

It was inevitable, of course, that they end up together after that, though if you asked them years later, neither of them could pinpoint exactly how it happened.

When Klara was eighteen and Fritz was twenty, the two moved out into a small apartment of there own. It was impossible to get any further from the grandeur of the Von Karma mansion.

Klara loved it.

Franziska did not. "How can you live here? It's so small!" she would say, every week, without fail.

It was the perfect place to write, something which Klara went back to with gusto. She spent most of her free time doing so, something Fritz was quick to pick up on. He often told her off about it, too: "You have exams coming up, Klara." He'd remind her, laughing.

Which was true. She had her final exams coming up extremely soon, and she should be studying hard. But, to be honest, she couldn't care less. Studying was something she'd been dead set against since she was a child, simply because of her father.

She was almost certain she was the only older sister in the world who actively attempted to stop her siblings studying.

However, Klara was clever enough. Though she never got the top grade – and she had never expected it – she received passable marks. And, just like that, school was no longer an object. Not that it ever really had been.

The day her results were announced, Fritz was working. So Klara sat, alone, in silence, staring at the proof of her qualification. Then she picked up her pen and got her notebook from the drawer.

"Finally." She muttered to herself.

* * *

When Klara was nineteen, her book was ready. It was a fairly generic crime thriller, a murder mystery with the psychotic serial killer, the clever detective and the love interest. The kind of thing that people lapped up.

When Fritz read it, he raised an eyebrow at the description of the killer, but said nothing. Klara knew exactly why. She had been rather liberal in stealing a certain someone's physical description as well as personality for _that _character.

But now Klara was faced with a problem. She needed a name to send in with the book to the publisher – the publisher, being the one whose number she'd been given. The problem being, of course, she _had _no surname.

"Your name is Klara von Karma." Franziska told her that afternoon, looking at her as though she'd completely lost her mind.

"No, it isn't." Klara replied, refusing to elaborate when pressed. "Go and help Miles and Fritz in the kitchen. I need to think."

The idea had been that Fritz occupy the children by making cookies with them – his idea, not hers. From what she could hear, the only one enjoying himself in there was her boyfriend.

Franziska shot her one more odd look before heading in.

Surnames, surnames…it had been so easy to come up with her character's names, so why was this proving so difficult?

"Fritz!" she called, frustrated. Fritz popped his head out of the kitchen, covered from head to toe with flour.

"What?" he asked. Charming.

"I need your help. Stop messing around."

Fritz wiped his hands on his shirt and walked into the living room. Klara heard the sigh of relief from her siblings, but refrained from comment.

"What is it, Klara?"

"I need a surname. I have no surname, and I can't think of one."

Suddenly, the room went silent. Klara didn't understand the atmosphere, not at all. "Use mine." Fritz replied, after a while.

"Klara…Kirsche?" Klara tried, delighted by how it sounded. "That sounds great. I think I will use that. Thanks!"

The atmosphere was still weighing down on them, despite how much she tried to ignore it.

"What?" she asked finally, getting sick of him staring in silence.

"Well if you want to use my name…would it be on a permanent basis?"

Klara could have kicked herself later for not understanding straight away. However, she didn't, so stupidly she answered. "Well, yes. If I'm writing any more books that is, I mean, if this one gets published."

"God, Klara, I thought you were supposed to be clever." Friedrich sighed, sounding extremely exasperated.

Klara blinked. What now? She watched as Friedrich reached into his pocket and drew out…nothing. His face fell, and he swore. "I've gone and lost it!" he muttered, more to himself than anything.

It was at that moment that Miles, now thirteen, entered the room. "Are you looking for this?" he asked, holding out a small box to Fritz, sounding totally and completely condescending. "It was half buried in some cookie dough. We heard your conversation and thought you might want it."

Slowly, slowly, Klara's brain was beginning to work. She saw Fritz's expression; his face lit up with relief. She watched as Miles tried to hand the box over and was shook away.

"No, give it to Klara. It's hers, now."

"Can't you even do _that _yourself?" Miles demanded, but obediently handed her the box before leaving the room again.

Klara opened it automatically, staring at the jewel glinting back at her on top of the ring. She said nothing. What was the point?

"If you want to use my name," Fritz went on, "Then you have to wear that to prove it, okay?"

"…"

"Klara?" He sounded anxious now.

"…your Mama is going to be so pleased." Klara whispered, unable to say anything else.

Fritz beamed. "I love you." He informed her. The romantics of the moment were destroyed by a loud clatter from the kitchen, followed by Franziska yelling about how much of a fool Miles Edgeworth was.

"How couldn't you?" Klara replied, slipping on the ring – a perfect fit – before standing up to see what was going on. "Especially with _my _family."

Fritz snorted, standing up to follow. "Don't be silly, Klara. You're my family now. Those two, too, whether they like it or not."

Klara smiled to herself before heading in to check the level of carnage. They might not like it, but she did. A lot.

* * *

**Go on. Review. There's a wedding on the horizon~**


	3. Ana

**Again, it took me a while, but I got there eventually. This was a killer to write. And I have so much left to do...**

**Anyway, enjoy chapter three~ Time will probably stop moving so quickly after this. Maybe.**

**

* * *

**

**In which there is Ana**

**

* * *

**

The wedding itself, which took place nearly a year later, was no big deal; fairly traditional, white dress, black suit, etcetera, etcetera. The bridesmaids – some friends from Klara's old school – were all dressed in green and spent the majority of the time fawning over her little brother, who spent most of _his_ time with his eyes on the door, probably looking forward to getting out of his own colour-coordinated suit. He apparently wasn't too fond of the green.

Franziska, on the other hand, sat beside Miles the whole time, watching the ceremony with unashamed curiosity, starting every time people applauded and saying nothing.

"Klara." Fritz said quietly. "I know you love your brother and sister, but you're supposed to be paying attention to _me _today."

Klara's head snapped back to him. Her mind had been drifting again. "Sorry." She mouthed back as the man presiding over the ceremony began to speak again.

"Miles doesn't like female attention much, does he?" Fritz continued in a low whisper.

Klara determinedly did not smirk. "You leave that poor boy alone. And shut up, you're supposed to be quiet at this part."

"But that's _boring._"

"Stop being such a child!"

Their mature adult conversation was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat by the man who had been speaking. Both decided that now would be a good time to shut up.

Klara couldn't help but notice that Fritz shook with silent laughter throughout the entire thing.

* * *

Afterwards, the small crowd – made up of a few school friends, Fritz's brothers and parents and some others from his side of the family – headed back to Sascha and Xaver's house for…well, Klara called it dinner, and her new husband called it a party, but it didn't really matter, considering it was really neither.

At around ten, Klara realised she had to take Miles and Franziska home; the latter was falling asleep where she sat, and the former was currently taking refuge from Klara's bridesmaid in Fritz's old treehouse in the garden. Besides, she'd already had them for well on three days, something which irritated one Manfred von Karma to no end as she'd heard through a series of unpleasant phone calls, all of which ended in something about how she was no longer family.

And in her assuring him that nothing could possibly make her happier.

* * *

Franziska was sleeping as they arrived at her home, and Klara couldn't help smiling as Miles lifted her onto his back to carry her along the ridiculously long driveway.

As usual, they were being waited on. Klara waved in greeting, watching as Manfred's frown deepened.

"Klara, don't start him." Miles warned as they approached.

"Oh, do calm down, Miles. Take your sister inside and I'll see you next week, alright?" Klara said, her voice calm. Her mind was calm, too. Apart from the two children – though Miles forcibly objected to being referred to as such – nothing bound her to this place anymore. She was truly part of another family now.

"Hallo, Papa." She said, in a tone both friendly and informal, both of which annoyed him to no end. "I didn't see you at the ceremony. Did you lose your invitation?" And she _had _sent him one. It was only proper, after all.

He simply glared at her and turned to follow Miles and Franziska inside, slamming the door behind him.

Klara chuckled as she headed back to the car. "Temper, temper."

* * *

The fact of the matter was that Klara had a terrible hangover. It was a few months after her wedding, and another of her friends had just gotten engaged. So, naturally, a party was in order. Now, Klara had never been one for drinking. She had no idea how, but somehow she'd managed to come home completely blitzed out of her brains, something Fritz found amusing when he'd recounted it to her the next morning.

Of course, she was going to murder him. He'd woken her at _half past seven _by shouting in her ear. Her head felt like it was going to explode.

"Klara, admit it. You were so smashed last night you don't even remember what happened."

"Shut up, Fritz, or I _will _hurt you." Klara groaned into her pillow.

"_Someone's _hung over."

"Someone's going to _stab _you."

Fritz laughed, heading for the door. "I'll go get you some painkillers. I must say, your current violent mood amuses me."

He was then forced to duck as Klara threw her pillow at him.

About three minutes of glorious silence later, he was back with the pills and a glass of water, handing them over without so much as a word.

Just as Klara lifted the medicine to her mouth, however, she felt a churning in her stomach and reacted immediately – dropping the pills and the glass, consequentially getting water everywhere, and rushing to the bathroom, where, in the most beautifully undignified way possible, she promptly threw up.

"Really, love, just how much _did _you have to drink?" Fritz asked, having followed her due to his infuriating habit of being generally annoying.

"Don't _start." _She demanded, washing her face and marvelling at how much better she felt already – though her head was still killing her. "That's got nothing to do with anything. I've been sick, you know that, and…"

"Yes, yes, every morning for the last week, but you thought you were fine, I _know._" Fritz interrupted, suddenly looking a little concerned as Klara span around and faced him. She could feel her eyes widening.

"_What _did you just say?"

"…huh?"

"Every _morning. _Oh, no. No way. Holy _crap._"

"What?"

"What date is it?" Klara demanded.

Fritz told her, the worry in his face escalating. Klara ignored him as she counted back.

"Klara, what's _wrong?"_

"Nothing's wrong." She assured him quietly. "Except I'm running over a week late."

"What are you _talking _a…oh." Concern to confusion to comprehension all in the matter of about five seconds. "You mean…?"

Klara didn't reply. Instead she pushed past him through the living room, back into their room, shoving on the first outfit she saw, grabbing the car keys and hurrying out to the car in record time.

"Where are you _going?" _Fritz demanded as she hurried past him.

"Where do you think?" she called back before the door slammed shut.

* * *

When she returned from the pharmacy, along with that little bag containing a little box containing two little testers which were about to potentially change their lives forever, Fritz was waiting for her. "You should have let me take you." He said as soon as she entered.

"I can drive. I'm not ill." She snapped.

"No, but you are hungover and quite possibly pregnant."

Of course, he _had _to go say it out loud like that. Had to make it seem real. Had to make her acknowledge the fact this was happening, right now, and that she had no idea what she wanted the results of this test to be.

Without another word, she headed into the bathroom. Time to get this over with.

* * *

It came as no surprise when the tester result was positive, nor that the second one (for non-believers of the first, apparently) was too. She told Fritz straight away, and both of them sat in a sort of awed silence for at least half an hour.

Then, quite suddenly, the phone rang, causing them both to jump. They stared at it for about half a minute, both unwilling to break the silence that seemed to have fallen on them.

The phone kept ringing.

Slowly, feeling incredibly dream-like, Klara got to her feet. "Hello?" she practically whispered down the line.

"Klara, dear? It's Sascha. Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Last…night?" Klara repeated stupidly. It seemed so long ago now. "Oh…right. Yes, I did. I think."

"That's good. Is Fritz there?"

"Yes."

"…well, could you put him on, dear?"

"…I don't think Fritz can talk at the moment, to be honest."

Sascha's voice was instantly alert. "What? Why? What's wrong?"

"No…nothing's wrong, Sascha, don't worry. It's just…" Klara trailed off. She turned to see Fritz standing beside her, hand held out for the phone. She handed it over without a word.

"Hallo, Mama." Fritz said, his voice normal, seemingly having made a great recovery. "Yes…yes…no, everything's fine. No, I'm not…Mama, calm yourself. No, listen. I need to apologise to you. Yes, that's right."

Klara didn't pretend to know what was going on. She stared, waiting as Sascha demanded to know what Fritz was talking about.

"I'm sorry that we're making you a grandmother. Again. This is what, the fifteenth time?"

Even from where she was standing, Klara could hear Sascha's excited exclamation. A few seconds later, Fritz turned to grin at her and put the phone down. "She's gone to tell Papa." He informed her. "And possibly all the neighbours."

"Fritz, what were you _thinking?" _Klara demanded.

He looked stunned by her tone. "What did I do?"

"What if something goes wrong? You weren't supposed to tell anyone yet!"

"Something…wrong? Klara, what are you talking about? Why would anything go wrong?"

Klara sat back down, elbows on the table, head in hands. Her headache was back. "Fritz, have you _any _idea how much I had to drink last night? Do you know how bad that is for a baby? I could've…I might've…"

She was cut off by a hand on her shoulder. "Klara. Stop kicking yourself. It'll be fine. If anything goes wrong with the baby, it won't be your fault. It'll be your sister's fault for damaging me with that baseball bat years ago."

Klara laughed. She couldn't help it. "It's not Franziska's fault you were stupid enough to give her a bat." She replied.

* * *

Despite Klara's fears, the pregnancy went pretty much as planned – or not, as the case happened to be. Franziska seemed particularly interested in the growing size of her sister's belly, seeming unable to get over the fact that there was actually a person in there.

"But _how?" _she demanded as they – Klara, Fritz, Franziska and Miles – walked along the riverside sometime during her sixth month.

No one answered.

"Miles Edgeworth, tell me how a person came to be in there. Now."

Klara stifled a laugh behind her hand at the look on her brother's face. The poor boy looked absolutely mortified.

"Hang on there, Missy." Fritz said, saving Miles in a way that was amazingly out of character. After all, he was usually the one mentally torturing the poor boy.

"_Franziska."_

"Fine then, Fran."

"Fran_ziska." _The girl repeated, annoyed.

Fritz ignored her. "Anyway, about your question. You're going to have to ask your Papa about that."

"Alright, I will."

Klara couldn't help it, she burst into laughter. A sidelong glance at the look on Miles' face – now one of someone trying desperately not to find something funny – simply served to make her laugh more.

Franziska frowned. "Why are you laughing?" she demanded. When no one answered, she seemed to give up. "Friedrich. I am hungry."

"Really?" Fritz asked her. Klara didn't know why Franziska never called him by his full name like she did with practically everyone else on the planet except her sister and father. Perhaps she thought neglect to use his nickname was enough.

"Yes, really."

"What do you want me to do about it, Missy?"

"Fritz, behave." Klara ordered. She sensed a temper tantrum coming on. "I think we should get some lunch, don't you?"

"What's the point in that? You only eat one thing." Fritz grinned. Then, addressing her stomach, "Isn't that right, Jellybean?"

Klara received a kick for her husband's effort. Apparently, the baby did not like that nickname. Which was a shame, because if Franziska was anything to go by, Fritz wasn't letting it go.

"Stop exaggerating."

"You know, Miles, she woke me up at half past three this morning. Had me go to the twenty four hour supermarket to get her more jellybeans." Fritz said. "She's overreaching the supply of jellybeans, I think. Soon supply and demand will be so different that jellybeans will be ten Euros per bean!"

Klara elbowed him in the ribs. "I am _not _that bad. Most women get cravings."  
"You're lucky, Miles, my boy." Fritz continued.

"Lucky how?" Miles asked.

"Well, since men still can't get pregnant, you'll never have to worry about…Klara, stop _hitting _me. Excessive violence is bad for our little Jellybean."

Miles stalked off ahead, obviously embarrassed.

"You're a horrible man, Friedrich Kirsche." Klara informed him.

"Yes, I am." Fritz replied thoughtfully, looking extremely proud of himself.

* * *

It was exactly three months later that the baby decided now was the time to shine. Unfortunately, Fritz had chosen the day before to go away for the weekend for work. After all, Klara wasn't due until late the next week.

Which was also the reason that Miles and Franziska were keeping her company. Not exactly the best crowd to have around you when you go into labour.

As soon as Klara announced what was happening, Miles began to panic, something Klara would have found quite adorable had it not been for the fact that she was currently in the process of giving birth.

"What do we do?!" he demanded., while Franziska watched the whole thing from her chair with an open curiosity on her face.

Well, he couldn't exactly drive her to hospital, now could he? "Miles, call Fritz. Tell him to get his backside back here _now." _Klara replied through gritted teeth.

"That won't help! He'll never get here in time!"

Much as she hated to admit it, this was true. "Then…call the mid…" her speech was cut off suddenly by a rather painful sensation. 'Jellybean' was getting impatient. "Call the midwife. The number…it's on the fridge…"

"Got it." Miles replied, hurrying off.

"Klara, are you in pain?" Franziska asked, sounding morbidly interested rather than worried.

"No." Klara replied, not that that was exactly true.

"She's on her way." Miles called in anxiously, peeping through the doorway. "Should I call Friedrich now?"

"Do whatever you want!" Klara snapped. Now was not the time for her usual motherliness. She felt more like killing everyone than anything.

Miles vanished.

"Klara, you're being very rude." Franziska pointed out. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

"Franziska, please just…go away."

Miles rushed in with the cordless phone. "He wants to speak to you." He told her.

Klara snatched the phone off of him. "Fritz? I _hate _you!"

At the other end of the phone, Fritz laughed. "I know you do. I love you too."

"No, seriously, I'm going to _kill _you."

"That'll be a bit of a problem. Don't you want Jellybean to see her Papa?"

"No, I don't."

"That's too bad. I'm on my way home."

"Good. I'll be waiting with a machete."

"I look forward to it. Now, I have to go lest I run into a lamppost." There was a click, and the phone went dead.

Exactly that second, there was a knock at the door and Miles hurried to answer it, obviously not enjoying being in the same room as his sister in the slightest.

"Yeah…she's in here…" Klara heard faintly.

Moments later, the midwife – who also happened to be her friend - bounced happily into the room. "Hello, dear. How are you doing?"

"Renate. Please. Just get me to the hospital."

"She just threatened to kill Friedrich." Franziska informed the woman, sounding extremely happy about this fact.

"You know I'm not a taxi driver, right?" Renate asked, nonetheless helping Klara to her feet and out to the waiting vehicle. "Are we bringing those two?"

Klara glanced back. Miles looked like he was about to faint. "No." she said after a moment. "Miles look after Franziska. Just for a couple of hours."

* * *

Miles and Franziska were picked up by Fritz as he arrived back in town less than an hour later. Despite Miles' protests that Klara had told them to stay there, Fritz had taken them, pointing out that Klara would appreciate actually havinga place to come back to.

The fact that he almost missed the birth of his daughter was one that Klara would not let him forget for a long time.

* * *

"Is that the baby?" Franziska demanded as she and her brother were finally admitted to the room, after at least another two hours and a half of waiting.

"Yes," Klara replied. "But you have to be quiet, she's asleep."

"Does she have a name?" Miles asked.

"We're calling her Ana, after my grandmother," Fritz told him. "Because Klara won't let me call her Jellybean."

Miles didn't laugh. It was obvious he was still trying to work out whether or not Fritz was joking.

"Klara, will you let Papa see her?"

The question took Klara by surprise. "What?"

"Papa said he'd like to meet the baby when it comes," Franziska continued.

"Why would he say that?" Klara demanded, her voice rising.

"Calm down." Fritz advised as baby Ana let out a little whimper.

"He said that 'perhaps the child will be less obtuse'."

Miles was beginning to look uncomfortable, Klara noticed. She wondered if that was _all _Manfred had said.

"Franziska, dear. Do me a favour."

"What?"

"You can tell your father that there is no way in hell that that will ever happen."

A tense silence filled the room, only to be broken by Ana's sudden wakening and prompt crying fit.

Before Klara could do a thing, Fritz had plucked the little girl out of her arms and was rocking her back and forth. "There, now, Jellybean, it's not so bad," he said. "But I'm afraid this is about as cheerful as it gets from here on in."

At which Klara couldn't help but laugh. After all, the worst was surely past.

* * *

**Reviews are loved~**


	4. Phoenix

**Woohoo, quick update~ Enjoy.**

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* * *

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**In Which There is Phoenix**

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* * *

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Miles was due to take the bar exam in precisely nine hours time. Klara had not seen either her brother – who had only just turned twenty – or her thirteen year old sister for over a week. Uncharacteristically, she had not pressed the issue. She knew how important this was to him.

That didn't stop her worrying to herself, though. His birthday had been less than a month ago. He was still practically a child! Despite the fact she knew that this wasn't _true, _nor had it really ever been in the time she had known him, the thought refused to vanish. _Plus _they were both alone with her father.

This is why she sat in the small kitchen, cup of tea in hand, staring at the clock as if willing it to stop.

Eight hours and fifty-nine minutes.

"Klara, why are you still awake?" Fritz's voice asked from the doorway. He's obviously just woken up himself and realised she wasn't there. He still looked half-asleep.

"Because I can't sleep," she replied without moving. "Go back to bed."

"You haven't slept in about a week," he pointed out, disregarding her order and coming to sit at the table with her. "It isn't good for you."

"I _have _slept."

"For about ten minutes at a time, yeah. Come on, Klara, Miles is a big boy now. He can look after himself."

Klara knew this was true. Of course she did. And yet, the worry refused to fade. Finally, she spoke again. "He's hiding something from me, Fritz."

Fritz didn't reply. He looked thoughtful.

"Him and Franziska. They're both hiding something from me. I don't know what it is, but I doubt it's anything good."

"That's because they know you too well." Fritz replied.

"What?"

"Whatever it is they're hiding…" Klara couldn't help but notice the hesitation before these words. As if he knew something she didn't. "Whatever it is, there's one reason and one reason only that they haven't told you. They don't want you to worry."

"And why would I worry? What's going _on?_"

"Mama?" A third voice interrupted the conversation as three year old Ana padded softly into the room, dragging her ridiculously large teddy bear – a present from Fritz – behind her. She yawned. "Papa? I had a bad dream…"

Klara didn't miss the look of relief on Fritz's face at the interruption, but she was forced to ignore it. She got up and lifted her daughter into her arms. "It's okay, Ana. It was just a dream."

"There was a big monster…he wanted to eat me, Mama."

Fritz stood up and approached them both. "Well, you tell that big monster that if he bothers you again, your Papa's going to send an even bigger monster to gobble him up!"

Ana giggled, and then frowned, her logic going along the path that only a child's could. "A friendly big monster, right?"

"Of course."

Ana smiled again, content. "Say, why are you two not sleeping?"

"Your Mama had a bad dream, too. Didn't you, Klara?"

Klara nodded. That was one way of putting it.

"Oh. Did Papa get rid of your monster too?"

"He's getting there." Klara replied. "Come on, Ana. You can sleep in our bed tonight, okay?"

"Don't worry, Mama," Ana said, her little voice serious as Klara put her down on the bed. "All the monsters are gone now."

"That's right, Jellybean, you tell her." Fritz said, grinning.

Within moments, the little girl was asleep.

"All the monsters are gone now." Fritz quoted as they both lay down.

"You're getting there." Klara repeated, smiling slightly before turning off the light.

* * *

"Franziska did _what?!" _Klara demanded. There was no trace of a smile on his face now. She was absolutely furious.

"I told you two she'd react like this." Fritz said lightly.

"Oh, we _knew _she's react like this." Miles replied, his voice dry. "That's why we didn't say anything."

"_You _knew?" Klara demanded, rounding on her husband. "And you didn't say _anything? _Why? Why would you _do _that?!"

"Please, Klara, stop being so foolish. You're embarrassing the rest of us." Franziska cut in "We're in the middle of a restaurant."

"Really, it isn't the end of the world." Miles added.

"She…Franziska, you only just turned _thirteen. _About a week ago!"

"Yes, and your point is?"

"Klara, calm down," Fritz said gently. "People are staring."

Klara refrained from shouting about how she couldn't care less that people were staring. She had arranged to meet Miles after his exam was over, so that they could eat together and talk about how it went. She and Fritz had left Ana with Sascha and Xaver – and a good thing, too, the mood Klara was in now.

"How can you have sat the exam too? _How?"_

"Papa trained me well," Franziska replied, with the slightest of shrugs.

Seeing that this was an argument that she could not win, Klara decided to try to drop it. That didn't stop her seething inside, of course. It was as though Manfred von Karma had _completely _decided to rob Franziska of what little childhood she'd had. To seal the deal, as it were.

After a few minutes of strained silence, Fritz spoke. "Klara, your food will be getting cold…"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, don't act like such a _child, _Klara!" Franziska snapped, glaring across the table at her.

"Why not?" Klara demanded, her own voice rising. "_Someone _has to!"

Klara knew full well she was being absolutely ridiculous, but she also knew she couldn't care less.

The silence descended again, stonier than ever. After another ten minutes, Klara stood up. "I'm sorry, I need to leave," she said. She really _was _sorry, too. Just not sorry enough to let this issue slide.

"I'll come with you," Fritz said immediately, standing up. "Miles, will you and Franziska be alright getting home?"

Miles nodded, looking relieved. "I have my car," he replied. "It's not parked far. Don't worry about that."

* * *

"You completely and utterly overreacted." Fritz told his wife as they drove to his parent's house.

"I know." Klara replied through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry." She turned away, staring out of the window.

"I don't blame you." Fritz added after a moment of silence. "I mean, you were well within your rights to get upset. It could've been a little more private, though."

Klara made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, and said nothing more.

"It was an accident I found out." Fritz went on. "Two weeks ago…when I was dropping Franziska off for you…remember, Miles was busy that day?"

Klara nodded, still saying nothing.

"Well, _he _mentioned it as soon as Franziska went inside, and I overheard. It's not like it was some sort of conspiracy."

Still no reply.

"I only didn't mention it because you were upset enough as it was. I'm sorry, too."

At least, she turned to face him. "Keep your eyes on the road," she said.

Silence.

"I'm not angry at you," Klara continued after a few minutes. "Though a little warning would have been nice."

"Then who are you angry at, Klara? Franziska? Your father?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

They'd arrived. Fritz parked the car, but made no movement to get out. "Elaborate," he said gently.

Klara sighed. "I'm not angry at Franziska," she started. "Of course I'm not."

"Then…your father?"

"Honestly, Fritz, I don't care about him enough to get angry anymore."

It took a few more minutes of no one saying anything for Fritz to understand. "Oh for…Klara, you aren't _serious._"

"I didn't say anything!" she protested weakly.

"Do you really think it would have made a difference if you'd stayed?" he demanded. "Klara, you were a fifteen year old kid, justifiably terrified of your psychotic father. Of _course _you didn't stay!"

"But I left them." Klara stated, her voice dull.

"And what could you have possibly done to change the way things turned out? Been slapped around some more? Come on, you've given them more freedom by leaving than you ever could have if you stayed." Fritz reasoned.

Klara said nothing. He knew she knew he was right.

"Miles is leaving," she said quietly, so quietly that Fritz barely heard her.

"What?"

"He's leaving," she repeated. "Going back to America. He told me on the phone…the other day…"

"Oh."

"…Franziska will be alone."

Much to Klara's apparent surprise, Fritz laughed. "Don't be stupid, Klara. Miles is making his escape. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And as for Franziska…neither of us are going anywhere, are we? Stop being so ridiculously worried over nothing."

The front door of the house opened then, and out came Ana. The little girl hurried over to the car and stood with her arms folded, apparently waiting for them to get out.

Obligingly, both of her parents did so. "Hello, Jellybean." Fritz greeted.

"My name is _Ana, _Papa. And Oma wonders if you two are going to sit out here all da…Mama, have you been crying?"

"No, I haven't," Klara lied instinctively. Then, "Well, a little bit. But I'm okay now."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Fritz took the little girl's hand as they headed towards the house. "Have you been good for Oma and Opa, Jellybean?"

"Uh huh! We made paintings! Do you want to see when we get inside?"

"Of course we do, Ana." Klara told her, smiling and taking her other hand.

"Budding artist, just like her Papa!" Fritz was extremely proud of himself. "I tell you, Ana, you have some life ahead of you."

Ana didn't pretend to understand what he meant. Instead, like any child, she changed the subject. "So did you see Onkel Miles? Did he do well?"

Klara hesitated before speaking. "Yes, I'm sure he did. He doesn't know yet," she replied finally.

"Franziska took the exam as well, you know." Fritz added, ignoring the look Klara shot him.

"You mean Tante Fran?" It was Fritz's fault that Ana referred to her aunt as this. Unable to get the child to call her aunt 'Missy', he'd gone for the lesser nickname and drummed it into his daughter's head. Franziska couldn't possibly object, because whenever she did, Fritz would bring up the girl's age, pointing out how it could be difficult for her to pronounce the full thing. A lie, of course.

"Yup." Fritz replied. "We think she's done pretty well, too."

Ana was silent for a moment. Then; "Well, Mama, you must be really proud of them, huh?"

Fritz turned his head to see Klara's shocked expression.

"Well, I…" she said, frowning. "I guess I never thought of it…like that…"

"Way to go, Jellybean. Twice in twenty-four hours!" Fritz laughed.

Klara rolled her eyes. "Alright, smart guy, you win this round. Come on, Ana, let's see those pictures."

* * *

Both Franziska and Miles passed the exam, naturally with flying colours. It was less than a week later that Miles left for America – point blank refusing any sort of going-away party – then, only about a month later, both of them had their first case.

On, naturally, the same day.

Of course, due to time difference, Franziska's trial started nine hours before Miles' did. At ten a.m., Klara found herself sitting in the courtroom gallery for the first time since she was eight years old, staring down at the face of her thirteen year old sister. There was something fundamentally wrong with that picture, but no one else seemed to be able to see it.

The defence attorney, one Mr Ernst Finkel, was well seasoned. He had an extremely high rate of success, and had been at the job for well on twenty years. Klara had warned Franziska beforehand, but her sister had simply waved her off, overflowing with confidence.

The trial started, the judge asking if the defence was ready – "Of course I am, your Honour" – and then turning to ask the prosecution the same thing.

And stopping in his tracks.

"I say, young lady, what are you doing standing there?"

Franziska frowned, her hand clutching at something behind the desk. Klara knew what it was – it had been a gift from Manfred, and proved just how much the man had lost it. "I am waiting to give my opening statement…Your Honour."

The judge blinked. "Now see here, young missy, shouldn't you be in scho-"

_CRACK._

There was something impressive yet terrifying about the girl standing there with a whip. "I am Franziska von Karma, the Prodigy," Franziska announced loudly.

"Yo…you're Mr von Karma's…?" the judge stuttered.

"…my father is nothing to do with this case. Now, if Your Honour is done playing the fool like the foolish fool he is, may I give my opening statement so that this trial is over some time today?"

"N…now see here…"

It may have been an accident, or maybe not, but bringing the whip into the judge's line of sight was probably the best move she could have made.

"V…very well. The prosecution may give their opening statement."

"Oh, she's good." Fritz said beside Klara. There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice.

"She's a bully!" Klara objected.

"I know." Fritz replied, grinning. "What did you expect?"

Franziska went on to give her opening statement – something about a man being thrown off a rooftop – and the trial began.

One recess was called throughout the trial, and only for five minutes. Within a matter of a few hours, the trail was done, and the verdict was reached.

"This court finds the defendant…Guilty."

Klara saw Mr Finkel's face fall. He could be heard, quite audibly, to beg someone to tell him he _hadn't _just been beaten by a thirteen year old girl.

* * *

At seven p.m., or ten a.m. Los Angeles time, Miles' first trial started. He hadn't said much to her on the phone, just that it looked like an incredibly easy win. The defence attorney was a complete rookie, and there was absolutely no way the defendant was innocent. At all.

Though she waited quite a while, Miles never called to tell her about how the trial had gone. When she finally decided, two days later, to take the initiative and call him instead, he point blank refused to talk about it.

It wasn't until much later she found out why.

* * *

Miles sounded down every time she spoke to him from then on in. When she finally asked why, Klara was surprised to find that it apparently wasn't about the trial.

"I keep getting letters." Miles finally admitted.

"Letters…?"

"From one Mr Phoenix Wright."

"…Phoenix? As in, _that _Phoenix?"

"Apparently, a gap of eleven years isn't hint enough for some people."

"You should write back."

"…I knew you'd say that." Miles sighed. "I'm not writing back."

Klara frowned, but did not press the point. "Alright, Miles. Whatever you want."

There was a silence. Both were aware of what the other was thinking, and neither was letting up.

"I thought it might interest you to know I have another mouth to feed," Miles said finally.

Klara nearly dropped the phone. "_What?_" she demanded.

"A dog, Klara. I have a dog."

"Oh. You got a dog? That's not like you."

Miles laughed slightly. "That's not _like _me? In any case, I didn't have much of a choice."

"Mama, can I have a dog?" Ana asked from where she was sitting playing on the floor.

"No, you can't, Ana. This place is small enough as it is. Go on, Miles. What do you mean you didn't have a choice?"

"One of the prosecutor's dogs just gave birth. He didn't want the puppies, so he was selling them. Pess was the last one left, and no one wanted her, so…"

"Pess? That's adorable, Miles. I bet she's lovely. It was so nice of you to take her, dear."

"…right. Anyway, I have to go." There was a click and the conversation was ended.

Successfully having embarrassed Miles that day, Klara decided it was now time to give her sister a call.

* * *

When Fritz returned from his next business trip, he brought with him a puppy, much to Ana's unending delight.

"Oh for…Fritz, I told her _no._" Klara said sharply as the dog tackled Ana to the ground, accompanied by many shrieks of delight.

"Yes, but Ana explained to me you were just being mean when you said that." Fritz replied lightly. "Besides, I'm a father. I'm supposed to contradict everything the mother says, am I not?"

"No, you're not!"

"Well, fine. I'll take him back." Fritz said, sighing theatrically.

"What? No, Papa, don't! Mama, please don't send him back!" Ana was close to tears in an instant.

Klara sighed. "Alright. Okay, you can keep him. But I warn you, if he doesn't behave…Ana, what are you doing?"

"Calling Onkel Miles," Ana replied.

"Ana, put the phone down. He'll be busy right now, and-"

"Hiya, Onkel Miles! It's Ana!"

Klara decided then and there to give up, going to make herself some tea. When she returned, Ana was in deep conversation.

"Yeah, he's really jumpy, and he follows me around when I walk! It's sooo cute! I bet he's even cuter than Pess is! No, he doesn't…you should name him!"

Silence as Miles replied on the other end.

"…okay. That's a weird name, but I like it! Good luck with the trial thing tomorrow!"

"A weird name?" Fritz asked as Ana put the phone back in its holder.

"Yeah. He said 'Phoenix'." Ana replied, turning to the puppy. "You like that name, puppy? Phoenix?"

Which caused Klara to burst into an amazing fit of giggles, spilling her tea everywhere.

* * *

When Ana was seven, she was finally introduced to her maternal grandfather. Klara was against this arrangement, of course, but there wasn't much of a choice. Sascha and Xaver were both abroad, visiting one of Friedrich's brothers, while every single one of their friends had some excuse or another.

It was Fritz who suggested that Franziska look after Ana for them while they were away for the weekend. Klara had finally given in after all else failed; ten minutes before they had to leave was apparently too late to think of hiring a professional babysitter.

They dropped Ana, along with Phoenix the dog, off at the mansion; Klara reminding her sister that under no circumstances was Ana allowed to talk to their father. To be fair, Franziska wasn't too happy about having to babysit either.

* * *

The place was crowded. Writers from around the globe were gathered, sharing their tips, signing autographs, etc. Klara was there simply because, upon receiving the invitation, Fritz had called the place up and told them that she wouldn't miss it for the world. He, as her sometimes-illustrator, came along too. Although she was almost certain he was just after a free holiday, considering they were currently in Italy.

Klara's most recent work was a book for children, thus the reason she now found herself surrounded by authors who wrote for children, meeting them and greeting them and trying her damndest to pick up some tips.

That she nearly ran one over was inevitable. "Oh! Sorry!" both women exclaimed at the same time, one in English, one in German.

Klara blinked. "Oh, you're Elise Deauxnim, aren't you?" she asked in English. "My daughter loves your books."

"Yes, I am. Thank you very much." Elise replied. "I'm afraid I can't say I know…"

Klara laughed slightly. "Don't worry, Ms. Deauxnim. I'm used to it." She grinned. "Klara Kirsche. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Elise replied, smiling.

It was then Fritz caught up with her. "God, Klara, you certainly know how to lose yourself in the crowd," he said. "Look what I just got for Ana! A picture book by that Americ…" he trailed off, finally seeing the woman in front of him and masterfully switching to English. "Ah, if it isn't Ms Deauxnim. Speak of the devil! Pleased to meet you. I'm Klara's husband. Er, Friedrich Kirsche."

"Smooth." Klara said quietly.

"Is that one of my books?" Elise asked, still smiling.

"It is. For my daughter." Fritz replied. "Although I like your books too. Not that I read children's…I mean, when I'm reading to Ana, I…"

"Fritz. Quiet." Klara suggested. "Um, Ms Deauxnim, if it's not too much trouble…could we ask for an autograph? Ana would be thrilled…"

"Of course." Elise replied, accepting the book that Fritz handed her. It was at that moment Klara's phone rang.

"Excuse me," she said, turning away before answering.

Behind her, she heard Fritz say "And Ana is spelled F-R-I-", and Elise laughing. Well, at least that kept him occupied.

"Miles?" she answered, after checking the caller ID.

"Klara. You told me to call you. Is something wrong?" Miles asked.

"You don't sound too happy."

"I'm busy, Klara. I have court in an hour."

"Wasn't that trial yesterday? Did it get extended? When was the last time that happened?"

Miles didn't answer. "Why did you have me call you, Klara?"

"I wanted to ask how the trial went. Tell me about it."

Miles sighed. "Fine. But if I'm late to court, I blame you. The defendant's name was Maya Fey, but…"

"Was?"

"Well, someone else has just been formally accused."

"Oh. And the victim?" She could tell Miles was hiding something. His voice had tensed the minute she'd started asking questions.

"Her name was Mia Fey."

"Mia…Fey? Isn't she the defence attorney who…"

"Yes."

Out of the corner of her eye, Klara thought saw Elise's head snap around to stare at her as soon as she said the name.

"And this Maya…she's a relation?" she tried.

There was almost certainly a reaction that time.

"Something wrong, Ms Deauxnim?" Fritz asked.

Elise shook her head and Klara returned her attention to her phone call. "Yes." Miles was saying. "Her sister."

He was still hiding something. Klara could tell. "So someone else was accused?"

Silence.

"Miles?"

"…Wright." Miles mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Phoenix Wright. Yes, _that _Phoenix Wright, before you say a thing, Klara."

"And you're still taking the case?" Klara demanded.

"Of course I am," Miles replied, sounding incredibly irritated. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I wouldn't."

"You aren't a prosecutor."

"And I'm so glad of that. Good luck today, Miles." Klara said dryly. "Make sure to tell me how it goes."

She pressed the end call button and stashed the phone away.

"What is it?" Fritz asked immediately. "What's with the face?"

"I…nothing. I'm tired; I think we should go back to the hotel." Klara replied. "Excuse us, Ms Deauxnim. Perhaps we'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course." Elise said quietly.

"Thanks for signing the book, by the way." Fritz said. The woman smiled once, and then walked away.

* * *

It was late that night when Klara couldn't stand it anymore and called Miles back.

"Edgeworth here," he greeted. He didn't sound happy.

"Miles, it's Klara."

"…oh."

"The trial?" she asked.

"Klara, it must be one o'clock in the morning where you are. Why are you calling me?"

"I wanted to know how the trial went," she replied, annoyed, responding his tone almost automatically. "Did you lock that friend of yours away for life, or did he get the death penalty?"

Miles paused for a moment, and then she heard the phone being handed over.

"Why do I have to talk to her, sir?" she heard faintly.

Whatever Miles said, the other man seemed to take it as an acceptable answer. "Er…hiya," the new person said in English, sounding totally awkward.

"Um…hello. Who…who are you?"

"The name's Detective Dick Gumshoe, pal. Mr Edgeworth asked me to tell you, since I don't think he wants to say it himself…"

"Uh…okay? And what is 'it'?"

"Well, y'see…this is sort of hard to say, pal…"

"Go on, Detective."

"Mr Edgeworth…he didn't win this one."

"…what?" Klara asked. "You mean…he lost? The defendant was found innocent?" Surely not. Both Miles and Franziska had, unfortunately, taken after her father in that respect. Neither had ever lost a case in their time as a prosecutor.

"That's right, pal. Someone else was caught" Detective Gumshoe replied, sounding unhappy about the whole thing. "He's really upset about this, you know, Mrs Kirsche, and…"

"Klara," she said.

"Right, er, Klara. Well, he's sort of upset, so he didn't want to talk about it himself, you see, so…"

"Who was Phoenix Wright's defence attorney?"

"He defended himself, pal. He's only won one case before, you know, and…ouch…"

It sounded like something had just been thrown at the poor man by her brother.

"Alright. I'll let you go, Detective. Thank you for speaking to me."

"Sure, pal, any time."

"I'll remember that." Klara replied, ending the call before the detective said something which got him hurt again.

She headed into the other room, where Fritz was sitting up, waiting for her. "Well?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Miles _lost._" Klara told him.

"Are you serious?" Fritz asked. "You know, that shouldn't make you so happy," he added as she sat on the bed.

"It shouldn't, should it?" she replied. But then, she couldn't help the fact that it did.

She had a good feeling about this Phoenix Wright.

* * *

**Reviews are loved~**


	5. Justice is Served

**Quite a long time, huh? Sorry~ Anyway, this chapter contains quite a bit of dialouge taken straight from the games, which isn't mine :3  
Oh yes, and watch out for the one teeny tiny swear word in there.**

**Enjoy~**

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* * *

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**In Which Justice is Served**

* * *

"I want to be a lawyer, Mama!"

This was not the greeting Klara expected upon returning to Germany.

"Don't look at me like that, Klara. It is nothing to do with me." Franziska responded to her sister's wordless glare.

Ana seemed to completely miss the atmosphere. "But I saw you in court, Tante Fran! You were brilliant!"

"…thank you, Ana," Franziska replied, and Klara did not miss the slight sarcasm in those words.

"You took her to _court _with you?!"

"It isn't like you left me much of a choice, Klara." Franziska said calmly. "There was no one else to look after her, and I had a job to do. Unless you would rather I'd left her with Papa?"

Klara frowned, knowing she'd just been outsmarted by her own logic. "No," she said finally. "Thanks for looking after her for me."

"Mama, I don't understand why you don't like my other grandfather. I mean, he's different from Opa, but he was nice to me." Ana said lightly.

"What?!" Klara demanded loudly, looking to Franziska for an explanation. Franziska, however, looked just as surprised as she felt.

"You talked to Papa? When?" Franziska asked.

"Saturday night. He came to my room and said that I was much smarter than my Mama and that I'd probably be a really good lawyer, and that he'd help me if I wanted!" Ana replied, sounding pleased with the praise.

"Is your father in right now, Franziska?" Klara asked, in a voice of forced calm.

"Don't be a fool, Klara." Franziska replied sharply. "Ana did not come to any harm, so I see no need for your reaction."

"Mama, you _are _going to let me come back, aren't you? I swear, he won't do anything to me, and I won't even ask for his help, not if you don't want me to, and then there's Tante Fran, and we haven't seen her in forever, and…"

"Alright, Ana, that's enough." Klara interrupted. "We'll discuss it with your father when we get back."

* * *

In the Parent Guide Book, 'We'll discuss it with your father' is redirected to 'There is no way in hell.' Fritz, however, had obviously missed out on his copy, which is why they dropped Ana off for 'some time with Tante Fran' the next week, Klara complaining loudly the whole way back.

Despite Klara's wishes, it became a semi-regular occurrence, fortnightly most of the time, with an occasional visit sprinkled in between. Klara watched her daughter for any signs of unhappiness, for any signs that Manfred was getting at her, but there were none.

It was October 16th when something finally came along to break the monotony of drop her off, worry, pick her up, wait, and repeat. The phone went off, waking her up around half twelve that night. Klara stumbled out of bed, telling Ana to go back to sleep as she passed her, and grabbed the phone off its cradle before it could do any more damange. The caller ID read _Miles (Office), _but Miles was far more understanding of time difference than this, so she could hazard a guess at who it was.

"Evening, Detective."

"You sound tired, pal. Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, but no worries. Something you wanted? Is Miles alright?" During the month and a bit since the State vs. Fey trial, Detective Gumshoe had become a regular correspondent. Apparently, Miles wasn't up to talking much, and so had the detective do it for him. Miles hadn't lost another case since then, but it wasn't difficult to imagine him nursing his wounded ego.

"Er…no," Gumshoe replied. "Wait! I mean yes! Er…so, Mr Edgeworth has another trial today!"

"Really?" Klara asked, "Do tell."

"State vs. Will Powers, pal. The guy that plays the…"

"Steel Samurai, yes. I'd heard he'd been arrested! And Miles is prosecuting? Poor boy. I wonder if he'll be able to do it."

When the detective spoke again, he was obviously confused. "What do you mean?"

Klara laughed. Telling Gumshoe about Miles' absurd obsession with the children's show wasn't the best way to go, she supposed. "Never mind, Detective. Go on."

"Yeah, well…see, he's up against Phoenix Wright."

"Ah…" Klara sighed. "I imagine he isn't too happy about that."

"No," the detective agreed.

"Well, keep me posted, Detective," Klara said. "I'll speak to you tomorrow or whenever, alright?"

"Okay. See you, pal."

Klara put the phone down and headed back into her bedroom, safe in the knowledge that this would prove to be interesting.

* * *

Four days later, Klara received the call with the expected news. At that moment in time, Ana was at her grandparents- the grandparents that Klara approved of – with Fritz for one of his many brothers' birthday celebration. Klara had not went; she did not get on particularly well with Kaspar, who was far too fond of his money and rich lifestyle for her liking, and besides, she wanted to wait on a phone call. This phone call, specifically. She knew she wouldn't get a call until the day after the trial, and sure enough…

_Miles (Office) _was again what the caller ID read, but Klara knew that depending on the outcome of this trial, it would either be her brother or the detective. She wasn't sure which voice she wanted to hear as she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she asked, more cautiously than perhaps necessary.

"Hiya, pal," Detective Gumshoe greeted, sounding dejected.

"Again, Detective? He must be furious!" Klara exclaimed. "Against Phoenix Wright again?"

The detective almost laughed. "Yeah, that's right. But it was different this time, Mrs…er…Klara. And he's even more upset this time."

"Different?"

"Well, uh…I can't really explain it, pal. You'd have to see it for yourself."

Klara frowned. "Aren't the trials recorded?" she asked. "If I give you my e-mail…"

"Mr Edgeworth gave me specific instructions not to show anyone. Especially you," Gumshoe replied, but Klara picked up on the hesitance in his tone.

"Please, I'm his big sister," Klara said, slipping into worried-mode in a few seconds flat. "If I'm going to help him, I need to see what the problem is. If you care, Detective Gumshoe…" Oh, she knew it was low. She knew it was mean. She also knew that she needed to see that video.

* * *

"Mama, what are you watching?" Ana asked as she and her father arrived back home later that day and saw her mother glued to the computer screen. "Is that Onkel Miles? Can I see?"

Klara didn't even look around. "Ana, dear, why don't you go take Phoenix for a walk?" She knew it was safe; the park was directly across from the apartment building and in full view from the window.

Upon hearing his name, the giant Border collie came bounding out of the other room and pinned Ana to the floor. Ana giggled as Fritz helped her to her feet and handed her the leash.

"Be careful, Jellybean," Fritz called after her as the dog dragged her out of the building. He approached Klara then, dragging up a seat to sit beside her. "Courtroom drama?" he asked, glancing at the screen.

"Shh," Klara demanded. "I'm on the third day. Be quiet."

Both watched as Phoenix Wright was unable to break the testimony of Dee Vasquez, and seemingly was about to give up on his point, at which point something happened which caused them both to almost fall out of their chairs in shock.

The objection that had just been yelled across the courtroom came not from the defence, but from the prosecution. Klara watched, stunned, as Miles demanded that Vasquez testify again. They watched as he stammered, apparently as surprised with himself as everyone else was.

The witness began testifying again. The defence attorney pressed her on a point, and the answer she gave left an odd niggling feeling at the back of Klara's mind. Phoenix Wright was about to let it go when, just to further shock everyone watching, Miles pointed out a contradiction in the witness' testimony. Within another half an hour or so, the trial was over and the video ended.

"He…" Klara started, at a loss for words. "Did you see that?"

"Maybe there's hope left for your little Miles after all," Fritz laughed. "See, I told you that you were a good influence."

"No," Klara replied thoughtfully. "That wasn't me. It was someone else."

She owed Phoenix Wright her thanks.

* * *

Klara never mentioned the trial to Miles. She knew he'd prefer it that way. The rest of October flew in; the only key point being Halloween when Ana insisted on dressing up like her aunt and went around the whole day with a piece of string pretending it was a whip. November passed, and all too soon it was December 24th.

"What do you _mean, _you couldn't get it?!" Klara demanded of her husband as he arrived home that night, looking defeated.

"They were out of stock, Klara. It isn't my fault. Calm down or you'll wake Ana up," Fritz pointed out.

"Yes, and when she does wake up, she'll be disappointed at the fact she doesn't have that ridiculously giant bear she wanted."

Fritz laughed. "She's going to be the most spoiled kid in the world if you keep this up, Klara," he pointed out. "It's a collectors' item, you know. Difficult to get anyway."

Klara sighed, acknowledging the point. "I know," she replied. "Ana will be fine with what we've got her, I guess."

"She will. Relax," Fritz said gently. She knew he was well aware of why she was like this; overcompensating for her and her siblings' – especially her sister's – lack of childhood by buying ludicrously priced gifts to please her daughter. She knew this was not a good habit, and she knew she was behaving absurdly. Fritz, however, who adored his daughter beyond all reason, funded this well and didn't help in the slightest.

"I'll need to go get Franziska in the morning," Klara added, changing the subject quickly. It was a source of great disappointment to Klara that Miles would not be spending Christmas with them, but she planned to make sure that Franziska did just that.

* * *

Ana didn't even seem to notice the lack of expensive stuffed animals the next morning as she and Phoenix the dog – who she had taken to calling 'Feenie' – ripped open the gifts she had received with exclamations of delight at each one.

After an hour or two, Klara slipped out, leaving Fritz wrestling over a cracker with the dog while Ana watched and cheered on her father.

The drive to the Von Karma mansion was a relatively happy one; she would pick up Franziska and leave, going back home to where she was certain Fritz would have lost his tug –of-war against the dog and would be playing with Ana's toys in a way that proved how much of a child he really was.

She walked into the mansion and the joy faded. A feeling of unease surrounded her from nowhere. The place seemed deserted. She checked the main sitting room, the dining room, even her father's study. Nothing. Down in the kitchen, she was greeted warmly by the servants until she asked where everyone was and they all averted their eyes. One of them muttered something about Miss von Karma being in her bedroom, but nobody said anything about her father.

Klara frowned, heading up two floors and knocking sharply on her sister's door.

"Go _away,"_ came the harsh, expected response.

Klara opened the door anyway, walking inside without an invitation. Franziska was sitting with her head in her hands at her desk. Upon hearing someone enter, the girl sat up, glaring, determinedly hiding her moment of weakness. Her face relaxed slightly when she saw who it was, and then a new kind of panic filled her eyes.

"Klara," she acknowledged. "I forgot you were coming. Shall we leave?"

Klara blinked. Usually it took more argument to have Franziska agree to accompany her nowadays. Naturally, she was suspicious. "Where is Papa, Franziska?" she asked innocently.

"Why?" Franziska demanded. "Did you want to wish him a Merry Christmas?"

"Your sarcasm isn't working, Franziska. Where is he?"

Franziska hesitated before speaking, something Klara had seen her sister do only twice before in her life – when she was learning to speak. "Papa is in America," she said finally.

"He isn't even planning on spending a part of Christmas with you? How very like him. Why is he there?" Klara asked. It was simple curiosity that drove her to do so.

Franziska hesitated again. "He has a trial to attend to tomorrow."

"Oh? In America?" Klara pressed. Franziska was hiding something. "Against who? Anyone special?"

Franziska was definitely looking uncomfortable now. "A Mr Phoenix Wright."

"Ha!" Klara laughed. "Perhaps he can work some of his magic on Papa too. Bring him down a peg, like Miles." Of course, she didn't believe this for a minute.

The reaction from her sister was unbelievable. There was annoyance; of course, there was whenever someone said anything bad about her father, but the minute Miles' name was mentioned she just about jumped a hundred feet into the air.

Klara narrowed her eyes. "Franziska, dear, tell me more about the case."

"You are never normally so interested," Franziska snapped. She was almost certainly stalling now.

"Tell me. Now,_"_ Klara insisted.

Franziska sighed, defeated. "I suppose you will find out anyway. The defendant's name is Miles Edgeworth."

Time seemed to stop where it was. "What?" Klara asked in a strained voice. She'd misheard her sister, obviously.  
"Miles. Edgeworth," Franziska repeated, enunciating very clearly and not meeting Klara's eyes. "Accused of the murder of the defence attorney Robert Hammond at around midnight on Christmas Eve at a place called Gourd Lake."

"Accused…of…murder?" Klara repeated, finding herself feeling suddenly lightheaded and leaning against the wall for support. "Franziska, how is that possible? Miles would never!"

Franziska looked more uncomfortable than ever. "Papa is prosecuting. There is no chance that Miles Edgeworth will get away with what he has done."

"Miles has done _nothing_!" Klara shouted. "How can you stand there and claim that you think he has?! Franziska, your _brother._"

Franziska turned away, staring out of her window. "If Papa says Miles Edgeworth is guilty, then Miles Edgeworth is guilty." The uncertainty in her voice was covered up well by the contempt.

With a horrifying wave of understanding, Klara realised the truth behind Franziska's words. Forty years was a long time to go without losing. Forged evidence was a good tool for this. "But…America…the death penalty…" she whispered almost incoherently.

"Yes, that is correct," Franziska replied, her voice monotonous. "If all goes as it should, which it always does, Miles Edgeworth will be arrested pending execution."

Klara felt dizzy. She felt like she was going to be sick. "And you want to be like him! You want to be like Manfred von Karma, that _bastard _who is going to _kill _your brother!"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Klara," Franziska insisted, in the same monotone. "Papa is not a murderer. People get what they deserve."

"You deserve your name, Franziska von Karma," Klara said quietly. This woman in front of her…she couldn't believe it was the same person as the little girl she had practically raised. She refused to believe it.

Without another word, she stumbled out of the house, half-running and barely able to stay upright. Arriving at the car, she got inside and slammed the door behind her. Franziska did not follow.

Klara did not bother starting up the engine. She couldn't drive in this state. Instead, she rested her head against the steering wheel and cried.

* * *

Klara had no idea how much later it was that the car door opened and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Fritz's face.

"Franziska called," he said gently. "I know."

She allowed him to lead her to their other car – a necessity for his business trips while she was off gathering book material – telling her he'd come back and get that one later. They sat in silence as Fritz drove.

"Where's Ana?" Klara asked finally, hearing how hoarse her voice sounded and not caring.

"I dropped her off with Mama and Papa," Fritz replied. "She's fine. Detective Gumshoe wants you to call back when you get home."

"Why?" she whispered. "I know what he's going to say."

Nevertheless, when they arrived at home, Klara picked up the phone. Detective Gumshoe tried his best to reassure her, – "He's innocent, pal, we'll get him off," – but Klara wouldn't listen.

"You don't know my father, Detective," Klara replied matter-of-factly.

"You're just gonna have to trust Mr Wright," The detective insisted. Then he paused. "Are you coming over?"

Truly, that was what she wanted to do. But she knew Miles would much rather she wasn't there, and she couldn't leave Ana. "No," she replied. "I want to see the trial, but…"

"Live feed, pal!" Gumshoe interrupted triumphantly. "I can set you up with a live feed from the courtroom!"

Klara was silent for a moment. "Is…is that _allowed, _Detective?"

"Nope," Gumshoe replied cheerfully. "But sometimes you gotta bend the rules a bit, don't you? And my salary can't get much lower, anyway."

"Thank you, Detective. So much."

"Least I could do, pal. I gotta get back to the investigation now," the detective said, and then he was gone.

* * *

December 26th, at one a.m. German time, the trial started. Klara felt a surge of loathing as her father appeared on the screen. Throughout the trial, Klara remained glued to the screen. She watched as Detective Gumshoe was cross-examined and Phoenix cut through his seemingly solid testimony. A recess was called, and then her father called a witness. The strange woman's testimony was full of holes; she seemed so desperate to be a witness that it was quite possible she'd witnessed nothing. Klara watched while every time Phoenix tried to ask a question, he was shot down by her father before he could answer. There was something very wrong here.

No contradictions were found, and Klara was left with a sick feeling in her gut. Was this the end…?

And then the spirit medium was dragged out of the courtroom in contempt and suddenly Phoenix was back on track. Klara felt a rush of gratitude towards this girl that she had never and would probably never meet. She just hoped Miles would repay her somehow.

The strange woman began to testify again, and Klara saw her father look furious. His perfectly laid out plan was ruined, it seemed.

A lot of things were proven, and then…"Court is adjourned," the judge stated.

The feed cut off and Klara was left stunned. Phoenix had managed to drag it out for another day. She began to feel something she hadn't since hearing the news; a slither of hope.

* * *

One a.m., December 27th, 2016, Klara was in front of the computer as day two of the trial started. Manfred stated that the trial would be over in a matter of minutes, and seemed furious when he was proven wrong.

For the next thirteen minutes, Phoenix cross-examined the mysterious boat rental man and Klara watched with fascination as he asked his questions.

The wrong questions.

"This court finds the defendant, Mr Miles Edgeworth, guilty," the Judge declared, banding down his gavel.

Klara stared numbly at the screen. "No. Miles! _Miles!_"

Hearing her shouts, Fritz came hurrying in from the next room. "What? Klara, what's wrong?" he demanded.

"The accused will surrender to the court immediately, to be held pending trial at a higher court within a month from today's date," the Judge went on.

Klara covered her mouth with her hands, feeling tears welling up. She felt ill. "No. _No,_" she sobbed, as though that would make some difference.

"Oh God, no," Fritz muttered, staring at the screen as if willing what he had just seen to change. "Klara, he _can't._"

"I knew it. I knew there wasn't a chance," Klara began.

"Waaaaaaait!"

Klara's head snapped back to the screen as a new voice was heard. A pathetic looking young man now stood on the witness stand. This was, apparently, Larry Butz. Klara watched in amazement as the judge withdrew his verdict, much to the fury of her father, and a five minute recess was called.

Fritz sat with her as the trial restarted, both glad that Ana was staying with her grandparents for a few days. Larry was cross-examined, and some contradictions were found. They were back in the game and Klara had never felt so relieved in her entire life.

A while later, the issue of the picture was raised again. Phoenix stated that the person on the boat with Miles was, in fact, the boat rental man. Indicting him of the murder of Robert Hammond.

Klara's heart leapt. Could this possibly mean what she thought it did? Had they won?

No, apparently not. The witness was gone.

The feed cut off again as the judge once again suspended the trial.

"Three day rule, Fritz," Klara said, turning to face him after a few minutes of staring at the blank screen. "Tommorow is all we've got.

Fritz grinned at her. "True. I bet you're looking forward to watching your father's first loss."

* * *

December 28th, one a.m. This was a day that Klara knew meant a lot to Miles. It was the day his father died. In fact, the victim was the man who got Gregory Edgeworth's supposed murderer off.

Klara and Fritz sat together as the trial began.

The caretaker was brought to the stand, claiming he hadn't run away. Phoenix cross-examined, and was asked to tell the court the witness' name.

"Yanni Yogi."

Klara gasped, almost falling over with shock.

"What?" Fritz asked. "What is it?"

"Yanni Yogi…the man who was accused of killing Miles' father!" she told him. "If he is…if that's possible…"

But Phoenix found no way to prove it. Klara watched angrily as her father mocked him, suggesting he cross-examine the parrot to give them all a laugh.

He probably didn't expect Phoenix to take him up on his offer.

Fritz burst into laughter. "This guy is something else!" he chuckled.

They both watched in amazement as Phoenix managed to extract proof from the testimony of a _bird,_ and the witness was brought back onto the stand. Yanni Yogi admitted to following instructions to kill Robert Hammond, and Miles was declared innocent.

Fritz cheered, but Klara did not. She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. 'Following instructions'…? And there was also the overwhelming foreboding that suddenly overcame her.

"Objection!"

Klara watched as her brother objected to his own verdict, listening as he confessed to the murder of his own father. Manfred suggested they hold him on trial, and the judge agreed. Court was adjourned for a recess.

Neither Klara nor Fritz said a thing. Klara felt herself pale. She knew, now; that had been her father's plan all along.

The trial resumed. They both watched as Phoenix cross-examined Miles, and Klara couldn't help but think how wrong that picture looked. This wasn't right.

Phoenix raised an objection, her father shot it down.

She watched as Phoenix looked defeated and seemed to give up. The sadistic smile on her father's face was sickening.

Then something seemed to come over the defence attorney, and he started again with new energy. He suggested that the missing bullet had hit the murderer, and Klara saw her father's face clench. She stared. Eleven years ago, she'd had her suspicions. Were they about to be proved right?

As if in answer, Phoenix spoke. "There is a suspect...one lone suspect!"

Klara leaned forward on her chair as the judge asked for the name.

"von Karma!" Phoenix replied, pointing at her father. From the defendant's chair, Miles was heard to exclaim in shock, while the judge looked stunned.

Beside Klara, Fritz looked just about as surprised as the rest of them.

Klara wasn't.

Phoenix talked about the bullet, about how her father had been shot, and then was interrupted as his assistant suggested they call the doctor as the witness. Miles spoke out, telling them how it was no use.

"I know von Karma. Perhaps too well. He's perfect. He wouldn't leave clues. He probably didn't undergo surgery. That would leave a doctor as a witness." Miles said, and Klara clenched her teeth, knowing he was right.

However, Phoenix continued to grin. As they watched, he pulled out a metal detector, reasoning that if the bullet was still in there, they'd find it.

For the first time in twenty six years, Klara saw her father sweat. He refused to allow it, but the judge overruled him.

There was a deadly silence in the courtroom, and in their apartment, as the metal detector was used. A beep was heard. It was in there.

Manfred stayed cool, demanding proof that the bullet had anything to do with the DL-6 incident.

"We were so close…" Fritz muttered.

"We're still close," Klara replied. She saw the look on the defence attorney's face. She watched as he pulled out a bag, holding a bullet inside. The ballistic markings would prove it once and for all.

Manfred screamed. It was an awful sound.

Miles confronted her father, and told him he'd heard the scream before. Manfred threatened her brother and then…it was over.

Miles was found not guilty and Manfred von Karma was arrested for the murder of Gregory Edgeworth, later to also be charged with conspiring to kill Robert Hammond. He would be put on Death Row, and he would be executed.

Klara had never been happier in her life.

The clock on the wall read 8:38; they'd been here for over seven hours. "I'm starving," Klara said, her voice lighter than it had been in months, hurrying into the kitchen to find some food. She should be exhausted, she knew, but she'd never felt so awake.

The phone rang as she came back in bearing two enormous bowls filled with cereal. Fritz answered it, putting it on loudspeaker so he could eat. "Hello?" he asked, and his voice was almost as light as Klara's.

"Papa! It's Ana!"

"Ana!" Klara greeted.

"You're there too, Mama? Are you feeling better? Oma said you weren't feeling well…"

"I'm much better now," Klara assured her.

"Does that mean I can come home?" Ana asked, suddenly excited.

"I'll come pick you up now, Jellybean," Fritz promised.

Ana cheered. "I've missed you, Papa," she said. "And Mama, too. I'll see you soon!"

Fritz ran off to put something on. When he came back, Klara was sitting where he'd left her, frowning.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pausing as he headed to the door.

"'I've missed you, Papa'," Klara quoted.

"Yes, and?" Fritz asked.

"Franziska." Klara said simply.

Fritz sighed. "One step at a time, Klara. One step at a time."

* * *

**I'm not too sure about this one...hmmm. Reviews are loved :'D**


	6. Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death

**I seem to have been misunderstood in the last chapter. Franziska wasn't truly happy with the fact that her brother was almost certainly about to die, but she was protecting herself. Letting herself feel it would have been too much. If that made any sense XP**

**Anyway, another quick update! Enjoy~**

* * *

**In Which Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death  
**

**

* * *

**

It was near on a month before Klara saw Franziska again. Klara knew that the things she'd said to her sister last time, combined with what had just happened to their father, would lead to a door slammed in her face.

Ana was upset, too. In the short time she'd been allowed to know him, she'd grown to – not love, exactly, but _respect _her grandfather a lot. It wasn't the same as how she acted towards her paternal grandfather, but Klara guessed she would still miss him, regardless of Klara's own feelings.

"You have to go and see her sometime," Fritz reminded her frequently.

"Oh, I know," Klara sighed in return. That, of course was easier said than done.

Miles, too, was acting strangely distant, the excuse of not being in the country notwithstanding. He frequently either ignored her calls or had Gumshoe answer them; when he did answer himself he would talk for a few minutes maximum. Even then, he refused to talk about the case, Manfred, work in general – odd, because it was usually his favourite subject – and especially Phoenix Wright. If Klara mentioned any of these things, he would make an excuse and be off the phone within a couple of minutes.

She'd thought getting rid of Manfred von Karma would finally free them. If anything, it had put more stress on their lives.

* * *

January 23rd, 2017. Sick of her phone calls being ignored, and realising her seventeen year old sister was now living practically alone in that huge mansion, Klara packed an overnight bag and headed back to the building she had grown up in.

As the car passed by the gates, she stared. She'd never noticed quite how beautiful the building was. Banishing the thoughts that it was the lack of her father's presence – utterly ridiculous of course – she drove on.

Franziska was waiting at the door, a small frown on her face. She watched as Klara got out of the car, not speaking until the other woman was beside her. "Friedrich told you were coming," she said, her voice missing the haughty tones that usually resided there.

"Yes, I thought he would," Klara replied. "Listen, Franziska, what I said before…"

"Is total and utter immaterial," Franziska finished, turning away and heading inside. "Hurry up; I will not stand outside all day. It's freezing cold out there."

Klara sighed, but decided it was best to let the subject drop. For now, anyway.

* * *

No matter how many times Klara tried to get Franziska to speak to her, the ice guards were still up as they had ever been. A single mention of their brother had her tight-lipped and unresponsive, a mention of the word 'Papa' would have Franziska quickly changing the subject if not leaving the room altogether.

It was an awkward night, to say the least, but that didn't stop Klara coming back week after week, a sort of reverse of what they'd done for years. Every time, she would stay for longer, sometimes bringing Ana, and sometimes bringing Fritz along too.

It was Fritz, in fact, who suggested it. A joke, of course, "We may as well just move in there, huh?"

He didn't expect to have his wife commend him on his fabulous idea and pack all their bags.

* * *

Franziska didn't comment at all when Klara announced they were moving in, despite Fritz asking her whether or not she agreed with him that her sister had gone loopy. She seemed to have been expecting it. Later, when Manfred's possessions were discussed, it would be found that the estate was half Klara's anyway – Manfred, too 'perfect' to die yet, hadn't gotten around to writing a will, never mind writing Klara out of it, once in all his years and so everything was split between the sisters completely.

Ana took to her new home like a duck to water; that is to say, she enjoyed the immense size of the place and took joy in hiding for hours from her father who rarely found her. Klara, brought up in this mansion and well used to having to hide, always did, thus, she was never invited to play.

The dog seemed to like the place too. Whilst in the apartment, he hadn't been allowed to run around, here there was an abundance of space for him to do so. The only requirement was that he was kept out of Franziska's way as much as possible. The name 'Phoenix' wasn't one she cared to hear.

Klara was uncomfortable, now, having servants make her dinner and serve her. It didn't seem right. So, taking over as was natural to her, she gave the older servants a big payoff – well enough to keep them going for a while – and promptly found the younger ones new occupations elsewhere. Franziska did argue a little on this one, but only half-heartedly. It was a fight she couldn't win, after all.

And so, life settled back into a rhythm, a comfortable one if a little strange. Fritz and Franziska still got on as well as ever – that is to say, they both did care for each other, but Franziska refused to admit this fact, instead opting to complain frequently about the fact he still insisted on calling her 'Missy'.

Ana latched onto her aunt, following her everywhere. Franziska didn't try to prise her off, surprisingly. The relationship between Klara's sister and daughter was unexpectedly good, for which Klara was exceedingly glad. The only problem, of course, being that Ana persisted on being allowed to watch trials. More and more regularly, Ana would come back from these trials frowning after her aunt had won, and Klara was almost certain she knew why, but also knew that commenting was not a good idea.

* * *

March 4th, 2017, was the day this all ended. The phone rang, but Klara decided to ignore it, deciding that it wasn't particularly important that she answered considering Fritz was away and Franziska was at work. And besides, she was still half asleep. It was a Saturday, and Ana was already up, running about the mansion with the dog. It was half past ten in the morning. A perfectly normal day.

Except the phone wouldn't stop ringing.

It was Ana who finally answered it. Klara heard her talking, first in German and then in slightly stilted English. English had never been one of Ana's favourite subjects.

"Ja_, _I will go and get her now, Herr Detektiv."

The room door opened, and Ana came in, holding the phone. "Mama," she said, sounding relieved to switch back to German. "Mr Detective is on the phone again."

"Ana, how many times? Please don't speak to people in mixed language, it makes you look foolish. Either English or German, okay?"

"Yes, Mama, I know. But what's a _'suicide note'_?" The last part, of course, was also said in English; Ana didn't know the translation.

"What?!" Klara demanded sharply.

"A '_suicide note'. _Mr Detective said they'd found one."

"Give me the phone, Ana," Klara said, taking the handset from the little girl and speaking in English more quickly than she ever had in her life. "Detective? What's going on? Tell me," she demanded.

"Is that you, Klara? Only, I didn't know who I was talking to before it was too late, and…"

"Yes, yes, I completely understand. But that's irrelevant right n-"

"Mama, what is it?" Ana asked, unable to keep up with the speed of the conversation in a foreign language.

"Nothing…Ana, I need to talk to Detective Gumshoe. Go and play with Phoenix."

Ana trotted off obediently, while Klara turned her attention back to the phone. "Suicide note? Whose?" she asked.

The detective said nothing.

"Detective, you called me, so tell me. _Whose?"_

When he spoke again, he sounded close to tears. "Mr…Mr Edgeworth, pal."

"Y-you're sure?"

"It ends 'Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death'. And we've had the handwriting checked, too."

Klara didn't respond. She knew she should press the man for information, try to determine what was going on, but she really didn't want to. "Alright, Detective. Thank you," she replied in no more than a whisper.

"You okay, pal?"

"Fine. Goodbye." Without another word, she hung up the phone and sat on the bed, staring listlessly at the wall.

* * *

Three o'clock. Franziska arrived home, glowing with the familiar triumph of winning. Klara had relocated to the sofa, where she had been flicking channels and doing nothing else the entire day. It seemed frankly unbelievable. Why wasn't every channel filled with the news? Why hadn't everything – daytime television, interviews with up and coming musical talents, news covering a local school's latest competition win – why hadn't it all stopped?

"Tante Fran!" she dimly heard Ana yell. The relief in the girl's voice was hard to miss, and Klara felt a twinge of guilt at it. "I think Mama is sick, you have to come quickly!"

The sound of two pairs of feet hurrying into the room. Klara didn't look up.

"Klara, what is wrong?" Franziska demanded. She sounded anxious. Klara couldn't bring herself to reply. So soon after losing the father that Franziska had loved…she couldn't imagine what this would do to her sister.

"Mama, please tell us what it is!" Ana pleaded. "We can help you."

At this, Klara did look up. Both of them were staring at her, both looking worried. "Ana," she said. "Don't cry. I'm sorry. Come here."

Ana climbed up beside her, allowing Klara to put her arms around her as they sat there.

"Klara, what exactly is the problem?" Franziska asked. "Has something happened? Is it Friedrich, or someone? Is someone hurt?"

"Is Papa hurt?" Ana asked, suddenly worried.

"No, your Papa's fine," Klara replied. "In fact, why don't you go call him? I'm sure he's missing you."

"I want to stay here," Ana said stubbornly.

"Do as your mother says, Ana," Franziska told her. With a hurt look, Ana hopped off the couch and hurried into the other room. The spot she had been sitting in was filled by her aunt.

"You avoided two of my questions," Franziska told her sister.

"How astute of you," Klara replied wryly. "Detective Gumshoe called earlier, if you must know."

"The one who works under Miles Edgeworth?"

"Yes, but I wish you'd stop…" she trailed off. She was about to say 'I wish you'd stop calling him by his full name', but that hardly seemed to matter now. "It was about Miles, actually."

For the first time in a long time, Klara felt her sister let her guard down. Despite what Franziska had said in December, the loss of their brother would be devastating to her. Klara knew she's only said those things because she felt she had to. Ice guards, protecting the young girl's heart and freezing it in the process. "What about him?" Franziska asked, cautious.

"They…they found a note."

"Which said?"

"I…I don't know if I should…"

"Just _tell me._"

"…Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death."

Silence. The television blared, informing them that the man on the screen had just won two thousand Euros.

"A suicide note?" Franziska asked, sounding more vulnerable than Klara had ever known her, close to tears.

"Yes."

More silence. The man on the television was now trying to decide whether or not to gamble his winnings.

"I don't believe a word of it," Franziska informed her. The ice was back in her voice as she stood up. "Not a single word."

Klara watched as her sister walked away and did nothing to stop her. There was absolutely no point.

* * *

The remainder of March had two things happen in quick succession. The first was Franziska packing her things and boarding a plane, declaring she was off to get her 'revenge'. The second, a week or two later, was slightly less expected.

Fritz and Ana were out together, taking Phoenix the dog for a walk. They had, of course, asked Klara along, but she'd declined.

She'd just gotten off the phone to Franziska. Apparently, the girl had been allocated an office and would soon be able to take cases. The main detective who had been assigned to work under her was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Detective Gumshoe. She's spoken to him too; apparently Franziska had already taken to attacking him with her whip when the mood struck.

The door opened, and the familiar barking of an overexcited dog mixed with the high pitched laughter of a child were heard.

"Mama, look what we found!" Ana called, entering the room after the front door was heard to be slammed

Klara looked up. There stood Ana and her extremely animated Border collie, along with Fritz, who was being followed at the heels by another dog. She was beautiful rough collie, her long tan-and-white fur pristine, watching the antics of the other, rather shabbier dog with an expression which Klara couldn't help but define as disdain. She stood with a strange serenity, and her eyes seemed to say '_Aren't I well behaved?'_

"Can we keep her, Mama? Can we? She followed Papa _all _the way here and wouldn't go away," Ana said breathlessly. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Beside her, Fritz nodded, confirming the story. "I don't know where she came from," he added.

"Yes, she's beautiful," Klara agreed. "But she isn't ours, Ana. Look, she has a collar."

Ana gasped, looking disappointed. "Oh," she replied quietly. Then, with renewed vigour, "We'll have to be detectives! Look for here owner!"

Meanwhile, Fritz had knelt down to read the inscription on the collar. "Sorry, Jellybean," he said. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"What do you mean?" Klara asked as Ana looked even more dissatisfied.

"Look at her name," Fritz explained. "_Pess_."

Klara blinked. "Pess…? But that…"

"I know," Fritz replied, nodding.

Ana looked between them, confused. "But _you _saidOnkel Miles was _gone._"

"That would be my fault, I suppose."

All three of them jumped, turning to face the living room entrance where the new voice had come from. Pess turned away from Fritz, walking towards her master with more self-importance than one could ever suppose a dog would show.

"Talk about entering on cue," Fritz muttered with a low whistle.

"Onkel Miles!" Ana cried, running over and hugging the man around the waist before he could say another word. After a few seconds, Miles gently prised her off and looked at Klara, who had gotten to her feet.

Neither said a word.

Fritz called Ana over, out of the way, and took her into the next room, both Phoenix – the dog, of course – and Pess following. Even the animals seemed to realise this wasn't for them to watch.

"I wasn't aware you'd moved in here, Klara," Miles said finally, in an offhand tone, as if they'd seen each other just yesterday.

"I wasn't aware you were alive, Miles," Klara replied, mimicking his tone but unable to keep a slightly hard edge out of her voice.

Miles did not try to make excuses. "Where is Franziska?" he asked. "I can't imagine she's happy with me."

"America. She's gone to 'get her revenge'."

"Let me guess. Wright is involved." Miles replied, a small smirk appearing on his face.

"That's her plan, yes. But never mind _him. _What were you thinking, Miles?!"

Miles sighed. "I can't tell you if I'm not allowed to mention him. I have…some things I need to work out. I believe you and Detective Gumshoe have discussed this often enough."

Klara couldn't help but feel angrier at his calmness. "Oh, and does _he _know you're alive?"

"Not yet. I do plan on him being one of the first to know, of course, once I have this figured out once and for all…"

"Have you completely gone insane? Where have you been sine February?"

"Possibly. And I've been travelling, which I intend to continue doing soon enough," Miles replied.

Klara wanted to argue. She wanted to get angry, to yell at him, but she knew that it would be useless. So, instead, she let out a sigh. "I guess I should be jealous of this Phoenix," she said thoughtfully, sitting back down.

"Jealous? Of Wright?" Miles asked, sounding slightly confused as he warily approached and sat beside her.

"Yes. He's done in a few months what I haven't been able to in nearly fifteen years."

When Klara turned to face Miles, he was smirking slightly. "I suppose," he replied. "But then, it doesn't matter who you ask. Whether they like him or hate him, they'll all agree; Phoenix Wright is one remarkable man."

"And you?" Klara asked. "You agree with them?"

"Of course I do," Miles replied, rather pompously in Klara's opinion. "Would I be here otherwise?"

"You know, most deal don't fake their own deaths to deal with crushes," said Fritz, re-entering the room and grinning.

"Wh…I…you…cr…Wright…" Miles was immediately flustered, and apparently unable to complete his sentences, something Klara found adorable.

"Let me translate," Fritz continued. "Why, I do believe you're right. I _do _have a crush on Wright. Something along those lines?"

"No, it most certainly is _not,_" Miles answered, regaining back his power of speech and glaring at his brother-in-law.

Fritz laughed. "Alright, kiddo, calm down. You're in the newspaper, you know. American newspaper, of course." He threw the rolled up newspaper at Miles, who caught it automatically.

"'Kiddo'?" Miles repeated, eyebrows raised as he opened the paper.

"Just ignore him," Klara interrupted. "Let me see the story."

The headline read, predictably, _Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death?!_

"Nice phrasing, by the way, Miles."

"Quiet, Friedrich."

_Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth__, renowned as 'the Demon Prosecutor', is said to have prosecuted his last case. An interview with a detective, who will not be named, revealed the following; "We found a note in his office, pal. Nobody can believe it. His sister-"_

_Here the detective was cut off by what our reporter described as 'a demon with a whip'. However, one thing seems certain. Mr Edgeworth, after losing his last case (the State vs Skye case, involving his superior), decided enough was enough. Perhaps it was the loss, perhaps it was the rumours surrounding him, but it seems he could not stand it anymore. Or could he? According to our sources, no body has been found… (Full story and profile of the Demon Prosecutor on page 4)_

They were silent for a moment, trying to digest what they had just read.

"A tabloid, Friedrich? Really?" Miles asked disgustedly.

"Hey, don't blame me for what people think of you now, Miles," Friedrich replied. "So what is it you plan to do?"

"I plan to work," Miles said. "I have enough influence here that I should be able to keep myself out of the public eye while I do so…Klara, where are you going?"

"Someone needs to tell Franziska that you're…"

"No, don't," Miles commanded sharply. "Just…don't. Please."

Klara hesitated, and then nodded. "Alright. If you insist," she agreed. "But only if you promise me that you aren't running away."

Miles looked indignant. "I am _not _running away," he replied.

Klara exchanged a look with Fritz. He nodded.

"Then we trust you," Klara said simply. "Whatever you choose to do."

"Even if it is a ridiculous fake suicide," Fritz added, receiving a double-barrelled glare for it.

* * *

"Mama."

"I'm sleeping..."

"Mama, you need to get up."

Klara opened her eyes. The clock read 2:34 a.m., far too early for anyone to be awake on a Sunday. Beside her bed stood Ana, hissing frantically in an attempt to wake her.

"Ana? What's wrong…?"

"It's Onkel Miles, Mama. Come see."

Klara allowed herself to be lead to the doorway of her brother's room. A quiet sound was heard from inside, one she'd only heard a handful of times, almost fifteen years ago.

"He's crying. Is he ill?" Ana asked, anxious.

"No, dear, he's just upset. You can go back to bed now, alright?"

Ana nodded, still looking worried as she hurried along the hallway into her room. Klara pushed open the door and went inside without bothering to knock.

"Miles?" she said softly.

The prosecutor looked up, startled. She'd been right, he had been crying. She watched as he tried to remove all signs of it, wiping his face furiously. "Something wrong, Klara?" he asked brusquely.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, walking closer and sitting on the bed beside him, despite the obvious 'go away' look he was shooting at her. "Why are you crying?"

"I wasn't-"

"Miles."

Miles sighed. "I don't know what I'm doing, Klara," he said, his eyes concentrated on his feet. "I can't stand it. Everything I knew, everything I worked for…it's all gone."

Klara said nothing. She just listened. She knew interrupting would simply cause him to clam up again.

"He's _ruined _my life, Klara! He's taken everything I had and ripped it to shreds! I don't even know who I am anymore!"

"I know who you are!"

"Ana, I told you to go back to bed!"

The little girl, framed in the doorway, just grinned in a remarkable imitation of her father. "I know, I'll go later. But you're my Onkel Miles, right? That's who you are!"

Miles looked up, surprised. "Well, I…"

"Of course he is. Now go back to bed, and your uncle will talk to you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay, but first I need to give him something," Ana replied, skipping forward and pushing something into the prosecutor's arms. "It's a Steel Samurai plushie! I haven't got the Pink Princess one yet, but I watch it _all _the time. Mama says it helps me with my English, and…"

"Thank you, Ana," Miles interrupted quietly.

Ana smiled at him before heading away again, shutting the door behind her.

"Well, that's your identity crisis solved," Klara said, laughing softly. "And now for the other issue. I think you're wrong, Miles."

"Wrong?"

"He hasn't ruined your life. He's _changed_ it, oh yes, he's done that. But you still have everything that you had, don't you? Everything you worked for is still there."

"You don't understand, Klara. I spent years building up a reputation, and I was always so sure of myself until _he _came along and ruined it all!"

"And isn't that a good thing? Be honest, Miles, you were a total brat, especially when you first started prosecuting. And, sure, you've lost four cases. But would you rather that, or that the defendants were found guilty after all? Would you rather be my father?"

Miles' head shot up and he stared at her. He said nothing for a second, and then; "You know one pep-talk isn't going to cut it, Klara."

"I know."

"I have a long way to go, yet," he warned.

"I know that. You can take as long as you need. I'll help you as much as I can, but I know that isn't a lot. You're welcome here as long as you need to be," Klara assured him, standing up. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miles," Klara said softly.

It wasn't until she was back in her own room that Klara realised that this was the first time in nearly fifteen years that her brother had truly let her in.

He was building himself up again, and it would take time. But this would be a positive change, she knew it would, it had to be.

No matter what it was, thanks to that man, Miles had been changed for good.

And she would help him however she could.

* * *

**Miles may seem the tiniest bit OOC in this chapter, but by my reasoning, he'd not know where he was at after everything. I don't know if I'm being coherent or not...**

**Anyway, reviews are loved~  
**


	7. Pride

**I have no idea when the next time I'll be able to update is; I'm starting school again Monday x_x Anyway, this chapter was fun to write! Thanks to my reviewers, though I can't help but wonder where a few of you have vanished to. In any case, enjoy!  
P.S. Fritz is unbelievably mean. My apologies XD**

**

* * *

**

**In Which There Is Pride**

* * *

That wasn't the last night that Miles spent awake and upset. Sometimes Klara would go to him, sometimes she wouldn't. Miles told her that there was nothing she could do.

His actions around the house, too, were descending into him walking around in a zombie-like state.

Even Ana was getting worried. She took it upon herself to make sure her Onkel Miles took her to school every morning and had at least one conversation involving anything other than his work while doing so. Neither of her parents, of course, had anything to say about it.

Miles went back to work, as he said he would, after making sure that his presence was kept quiet. Life once again settled into a rocky rhythm and Klara didn't appreciate this one in the slightest.

Franziska's birthday was at the beginning of June, and, of course, Klara felt it necessary to call her up and wish her well. Her sister spoke the entire time in English; a habit of Franziska's – while in a different country, she would always speak the language of said country. Inevitably, of course, the question came; "Have you heard anything thing from Miles Edgeworth?"

It was the first time in their lives that Klara had ever properly lied to her little sister, and it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

On the twenty-third of June, Fritz came home with a smirk on his face. "Honey, I'm home!" he proclaimed, swooping down to kiss his wife on the cheek.

Klara looked up from her writing, rolling her eyes. "What is this, a bad sitcom?"

Fritz laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if it actually was. Has Missy called recently?"

"No. Why, should she have?" Klara asked, glancing at the clock and wondering whether or not she should call instead.

"Probably, yeah," Fritz replied, chucking a newspaper at her. "American newspapers, sold for your convenience."

Klara resigned herself to the fact she was done with her book for today and opened the paper, adjusting her reading glasses on her face. "Let's see…legendary Prosecutor Franziska von Karma…aged thirteen when she started…lost her first trial…spirit mediums…"

There was a pause for a moment while Klara's brain caught up with her words.

"Lost her first trial?" she repeated, making to read the rest of the article but having it snatched out of her hands.

"Let's play the guessing game, Klara. The defence attorney was…?"

Klara frowned. She hadn't gotten to that part yet. Then, of course, she understood the stupid grin on her husband's face. "Phoenix Wright," she said quietly.

"And we have a winner!"

It was one of those odd situations which everyone finds themselves in at one point; entirely unsure how to react. Franziska wasn't like Miles; hence the reason Klara hadn't been informed there was a case in the first place. Franziska _certainly _wouldn't answer the phone to her, and knowing her sister, Detective Gumshoe would be under orders not to as well.

The door opened, breaking her from her reverie and proving, once again, Miles' impeccable sense of timing.

"Mama, Papa, guess what, guess what?" Ana shouted, barrelling into the room pulled by one overexcited dog on a leash. Miles appeared in the doorway a second later, Pess at his side, almost laughing.

"He dragged her all the way here through the park. Hence the dirt," Miles informed Klara as Phoenix shook himself clean all over the carpet and proceeded into the kitchen to look for food.

"Feenie was just _playing,_" Ana objected while Klara was busy being thankful that she'd just bought a large bottle of stain remover. "Anyway, guess what?"

"I'm going to have to give that dog a bath?" Fritz guessed, and then looked to Miles. "How is your dog so clean?"

"Pess knows how to behave herself, is all," Miles replied with the hint of a smirk.

"What is it, Ana?" Klara asked, taking off her reading glasses and putting them in the case before picking up the cup she had on the table, knowing her daughter was going to explode if she didn't say whatever it was soon.

"So, um, this lady! No, wait, my teacher! She…um…_propositioned _my Onkel Miles today!"

Klara, in a move used by many a comedy, choked on her tea. A noise was heard from the doorway, she looked to see Miles slapping a hand against his forehead, while Friedrich burst into a fit of unrestrained mirth.

"Where did you learn that word?" Klara demanded.

"My teacher," Ana replied, seemingly confused by the effect her words had. "She said to the other teacher, '_I would very much like to proposition that Miles Edgeworth, wouldn't you?'. _Then they giggled, and today she asked him on a date."

Fritz seemed unable to stop laughing. Miles looked embarrassed. And, for the second time in the last hour, Klara found herself unsure how to react.

"Did…did you _accept, _Miles?" Fritz asked between chuckles.

Miles glared at him. "Your maturity levels astound me, Friedrich."

"Well, dear, it was rather funny," Klara said.

"Klara!"

"Don't shout at me; I'm the objective party here, Miles."

"Objective? I _object _to your husband!"

"Wordplay? Clever," Klara said calmly. "Anyway, Fritz, weren't you and Ana going to go try and clean that dog?"

"Huh?" Fritz asked, the confusion causing him to pull out of the laughter. "No, not right now we-"

"_Weren't _you, love?" Klara repeated, surreptitiously indicating the newspaper on the table.

"Oh. Oh, right. Come on, Jellybean, let's get him washed and fed, shall we?" Fritz finally cottoned on as he led the way out of the room.

"Pess! Come on, Pess, dinner!" Ana called. The collie looked at her master as if requesting permission and then followed the girl out.

Klara waited until the door shut behind them before speaking again. "Have you heard from Franziska lately?" she asked her brother lightly.

"Franziska? No. Why, should I have?" Miles asked, sitting in the nearest armchair.

Silently, Klara picked up the newspaper and stretched over to hand it to him. Frowning, Miles unfolded it. Klara watched as his facial expression went from curious to incredulous in a matter of seconds. "She lost?" Then; "Maya _again?_"

"Finish the article," was all Klara replied.

Miles sighed, but looked back to the paper. When he got to a certain point, his expression froze. Klara tensed. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to show him like that.

Then, suddenly, he chuckled. "Oh, I should have guessed it would be Wright," he muttered, lowering the paper to look at his sister. "I bet she's furious."

"I haven't spoken to her yet," Klara confessed. "I don't think she'd be very willing, do you?"

"No," Miles agreed, looking back at the print. "What does this mean, 'revenge'? You mentioned it before. Is she talking about your father?"

"I'd assume so," Klara replied uncertainly. "Unless you can think of something else?"

Miles looked thoughtful, but didn't answer the question. "I wonder if it _is _Wright?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, the first ever case I lost was the State versus Maya Fey. And in this case, the defendant is..."

"Maya Fey! She must be a miracle worker! Once you've lost prosecuting against her, you never win again against that defence attorney, is that what you're saying?" Klara laughed, joking, delighted he seemed to be doing so too. Or trying to.

Miles smirked. "Possibly. I was thinking more along the lines of dumb luck. I don't really believe in magic. Magicians are all well and good, but it's all falsities."

"Maya Fey is a spirit medium. They're real, you know. There are reports from years-"

She was cut off by Miles' face suddenly dropping into a frown. "I'm well aware of the _stories_," he said sharply, standing up and walking to the stairs.

Klara just sat there, stunned by the sudden shift in atmosphere as her brother stormed off. She mentally went over the conversation, attempting to find whatever she'd said that had upset him. The main thing that stood out was his emphasis on the word 'stories', and what about spirit mediums could possibly…

Oh.

That.

Klara groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Brilliant. That would really help the problems Miles was having, bringing up the past like that.

The kitchen door opened and Fritz came in, talking away but stopping abruptly when he saw her. "What? What happened?" he asked.

Klara told him without looking up. "It was stupid of me, I know, but…"

"Oh, Klara, don't be dense. You're both being idiots. He's up there sulking, but he'll be fine. Really." Fritz insisted.

Klara looked up then, smiling. And stared. Fritz was dripping; completely saturated with water. "What happened to you?"

"That dog does not like his baths."

* * *

Neither Miles nor Klara brought it up again. While Klara knew she should probably get an apology – because, really, he'd totally overreacted, hadn't he? – she wasn't going to press the point. An argument wasn't something she wanted right now.

It was August before Franziska finally called. She enquired after Ana, asked how Klara was doing and told them that she herself was doing perfectly, and that she hadn't lost a case yet. When Klara cautiously brought up the obvious, Franziska replied that that foolish case was a sham created by foolishly foolish fools or something of the sort. Then, tentatively, she asked the question Klara was beginning to hate.

"No, I haven't heard from Miles," she lied, glaring at her brother who was sitting across from her reading the newspaper. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask what the look was for.

"D…do you think he really is…?"

Klara could count on one hand how many times she had heard Franziska sound so vulnerable. "No, definitely not," she replied firmly, making a split second decision. "Miles isn't dead. I bet he's just off trying to work things out."

It was Miles' turn to glare now. Klara ignored him.

"Then where on earth has the fool been?"

"Travelling, I suppose. You know he's always loved this continent. He'll want to keep a low profile, is all."

"Klara," Miles hissed at her, but she continued to ignore him. Her sister needed reassurance, and damned if she wouldn't be the one to give it.

"I bet he'll be in contact soon. Just you wait," Klara continued.

"Please don't patronise me, Klara," Franziska replied haughtily. But Klara could hear the relief in her voice. "I must go. I have work to do. Goodbye."

There was a click as the call was cleared at the other end. Klara hesitated before putting the phone down, and when she did so she was not disappointed.

"What was that supposed to be, Klara?" Miles demanded.

"I was reassuring my little sister," Klara replied in a voice of slightly forced calm. "I didn't want to have to lie to her anymore. She was almost in tears, Miles."

Miles looked stunned. "Tears? Franziska?"

"She's still practically a child, Miles. And you're her big brother. Or little brother, as the case may be."

Miles didn't respond, but it was obvious he was thinking. Klara just wished she knew what he was thinking about.

* * *

Miles didn't stay in Germany the entire time. He would go off, for weeks at a time, apparently 'travelling'. Wherever he went, Klara could at least be sure that he was managing to keep his 'low profile'. She never heard a word about him.

However, Christmas was different. In keeping with her traditions, she demanded that if Miles wasn't going back to America, he was spending the holidays with her. Nothing particularly special happened that Christmas, but three days later, Klara realised she had not yet called Franziska. Today, December 28th, was as good a day as any to do so; this was the day Franziska needed a kind word most. After all, both Miles and Franziska had lost their respective fathers on this day. Klara had too, of course, but that hardly counted.

The phone, however, was answered by one Detective Dick Gumshoe. "Hey, pal! It's been a while!"

Klara heard the forced enthusiasm in his voice. "Is Franziska really that bad?" she asked, chuckling. The long pause on the other end answered her question. "Anyway, where is she?"

"Court, pal."

"Court? _Today?_ Why would she…oh. Phoenix Wright is involved, isn't he?"

"That's right. She really doesn't like him. Gave him a good whipping for bringing up Mr Edg…for, er, existing the other day."

Klara sighed. She'd almost forgotten."You can mention Miles you know, Detective. I'm almost certain he's alright. Not that I would-"

She trailed off as Miles stood up from where he was watching the latest Nickel Samurai box set with Ana and approached. "Detective Gumshoe?" he mouthed.

Klara nodded dumbly, handing over the phone as he held out a hand for it.

"Good day, Detective," he said nonchalantly. Klara heard the exclamation of surprise on the other end from where she was standing. Half of her wanted to listen, but a small voice told her to go away and do something else.

That small voice belonged to her daughter, who, annoyed at having lost her uncle to watch television with, was bothering her mother instead. Klara complied; after all, saying 'no, Ana, I want to listen in to Miles' conversation' would probably not be considered good parenting.

* * *

"Are you going back?" This was, naturally, the first think Klara wanted to know when her brother got off the phone.

Miles shook his head. "No. Not yet. I still have a little way to go. Besides, I already have my tickets to set off for England tomorrow."

"Of course," Klara replied. She'd completely forgotten.

"I plan on having Gumshoe keep me updated, however," Miles continued. "And…I do believe I'm close. Very close, Klara. Soon, I'll be able to go back and be proud of who and what I am."

"A prosecutor?" Klara asked, a smile appearing on her face at the sudden enthusiasm in his voice.

"An attorney," Miles corrected with a smirk on his face.

Klara knew the distinction Miles was making when he said this. "And a damn good one, too. Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses…truth?"

"Well, I want Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth to choose great justice!" Ana's annoyed voice interrupted them. "We still have three whole episodes to get through before you leave tomorrow!"

Miles and Klara looked at each other. "An order is an order," Miles said, shrugging.

"Don't _lie,_" Klara laughed. "You love this show."

* * *

It was late the next day when Klara read the newspaper and found out how the trial had gone. Something seemed off about the resolution, though. Almost as if…

"It's like someone was helping out those detectives, isn't it?" Fritz asked. He had returned home early that morning, bearing a newspaper and chocolate for Ana, and was now reading over her shoulder.

"Yes, it is," Klara replied, grinning uncontrollably. "I wonder who it could possibly be."

* * *

Miles was gone for nearly two months. When he finally did get back, it was almost March. He made it quite clear that he wasn't planning on staying for long, and Klara assured him that she didn't grudge it at all.

"You did it, then?" Fritz asked him. "Found yourself, thanks to Phoenix Wright?"

"Well…I…" Miles began, instantly suspicious. "Yes, I did."

"Look, Klara, your little brother finally came out!" Fritz replied, cheering.

"That's not…I mean…!" Miles was flustered again, and Klara laughed.

"I can't believe you fell for it again, Miles," she giggled. Then, slightly more seriously, "I think you should go pick Ana up today. It will be a nice surprise for her."

Miles nodded. "I think I will," he replied, still glaring at Fritz.

"So when are you going back, seriously?" Fritz asked him.

Miles half-shrugged. "I don't know. I'm waiting for the opportune moment."

"You just want to make a big entrance, don't you?" Fritz asked, grinning.

Miles stormed away, muttering something about this being why everybody hates in-laws.

Klara folded her arms, determinedly keeping the smirk off of her face. "You're _horrible._"

"Well, he didn't deny it," Fritz pointed out. "Either thing."

* * *

March 20th, 2018. Detective Gumshoe called to inform Klara that Franziska had a case, something he hadn't done once the entire time Franziska was there. He sounded extremely shifty, as if something wasn't quite right.

"Is something wrong, Detective?"

"This…this case, pal. There's…stuff going on in the background, and none of it is good. The murder only happened a few hours ago, and it's already totally messed up."

The tone of the detective's voice was enough. "You need help, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, we do. Otherwise everybody involved is gonna end up losing."

Klara nodded. "Hang on a moment, Detective," she said, placing the receiver on its side on the table and heading to the stairs. "Miles!" she yelled. "Phone!"

The sound of footsteps and Miles appeared at the top of the staircase, hurrying down. He paused at the look on his sister's face. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Klara replied honestly. "And that's what worries me."

* * *

Miles left for America within a few hours of the phone call, taking with him his suitcase and his dog. Ana seemed to sense the finality of the situation, and hugged her uncle tight around the waist as they arrived at the airport. "You be good, Onkel Miles, and make sure Tante Fran is good too, okay?"

Miles blinked, surprised, and then smiled a little. "I…of course I will, Ana. Look after your mother for me, alright?"

"'course I will! I'm a big girl, Onkel Miles! You don't have to worry about me," Ana replied, grinning. "And I'll think about that story, like you told me, okay?"

Miles nodded. "Don't try and grow up too fast, Ana," he warned.

Ana nodded too. Klara approached the two then, smiling. "Did you just have an honest-to-god conversation with a child, Miles? I didn't know you had it in you."

Miles just nodded. "Yes, and are you letting me go without insisting on accompanying me? I didn't know you had it in you, Klara."

"He's got you there," Fritz pointed out. "Good luck and all that, Miles. I'm sure your feelings are mutual."

"…I have to go. I have a plane to catch," Miles muttered, walking away, waving behind him once before disappearing into the crowd.

Klara, Fritz and Ana made their way back out to the car. "Can't you ever let things go?" Klara demanded of her husband.

"Nope," Fritz replied cheerfully.

* * *

It wasn't until the next night that Klara though to ask about the 'story'. Ana was more than happy to tell it.

"Well, I told Onkel Miles that I was all confused because I wanted to be a lawyer and help people, but the way Tante Fran and my grandfather – especially my grandfather – did it made it look like it was horrible. They didn't help _anyone. _I mean, there were quite a few of those people that were innocent, right?"

Klara didn't reply. Ana had been a year younger than she had been upon seeing her first trial. Ana's, of course, was two years ago now, but unlike her mother she had been a a good few more.

"So, anyway, Onkel Miles told me this story. Once there was a young boy who wanted to be a defence attorney more than anything in the world."

Here, Ana paused. "I didn't get that bit, at first," she informed her mother. "Because Tante Fran and my grandfather both said that defence attorneys were just 'bugs' or something."

Klara frowned. "That's not true," she began, but Ana interrupted her, going on with the story.

"Then, one day, a lot of bad stuff happened to the boy and he went to live with some really mean prosecutor fellow. This guy taught him all sort of bad stuff that changed the boy's view on the world and messed it up completely. The boy grew into a man who didn't believe in anybody's innocence. Then, one day, the man met another man who beat him in court to get the truth, and he did it more than once. And then the man began to change, all thanks to some supposedly insignificant defence attorney. So that's what I want to do, Mama."

Klara was still reeling from the fact that Miles had put his life into story form to tell to her daughter, and almost missed the last part. "What was that, dear?"

"I want to be a defence attorney, and help people. Onkel Miles said that prosecutors aren't inherently bad people, and that it's their job to catch criminals. But sometimes the police get it wrong, Mama, and that's why they need defence attorneys to try and straighten it out, you see? They need to trust each other. The truth is the most important thing, after all."

Klara said nothing. She felt her eyes prickling, and was almost unaware of why she was about to cry. "That's right, Ana," she whispered. "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, Mama."

Klara went into the living room, where Fritz was sitting watching tv. He looked up as she entered.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Klara replied, smiling. "Everything that my brother spent a year of his life trying to work out was just summed up perfectly by my daughter. Miles told her everything he'd learned, and I never even noticed."

"And is that a good thing?" Fritz asked, moving over as she sat down beside him.

"It's wonderful," Klara replied. "If what Ana just told me is really what he now believes, then I've never been quite so proud of him in my entire life."

* * *

It was a few hours later, around half past twelve in the morning, when they received yet another phone call.

"Miles?" Klara asked sleepily, having stumbled out of bed only to see his cell phone number on the caller ID. "What is it?"

"Klara, I want you to promise me you're not going to panic."

This, of course, caused Klara to panic slightly. "What? What is it?"

"Well, I have court in half an hour. You see, Franziska was shot on her way to the courthouse in the-"

"Shot? What the _hell _do you mean, she was shot?!"

"Calm yourself down, Klara. She was shot in the shoulder, but she's perfectly fine. She's in the hospital, recovering. I was only telling you because I know how newspapers sensationalise things and I didn't want you to worry," Miles said irritably.

"Well, I _am _worried," Klara replied, but she relaxed a little. "Keep me updated, Miles. Please."

"Of course," Miles replied, and there was a click as the phone call ended.

* * *

She didn't receive another phone call at all that day, but she didn't dare call in. From what she'd read in the 'sensationalised' American newspaper, this crime was a hell of a lot more complicated than it looked. It was now being treated as an assassination, apparently, though the source for this was not given.

According to the paper, the defence was motioning to accuse some person named Adrian Andrews, who apparently interfered with the crime scene and had some sort of long, messed up history with both the defendant and the victim. It wasn't until about halfway through the story that Klara realised that Adrian was a woman. Not that that particularly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Her gender could hardly become a case breaker, after all.

* * *

Another day passed without a call. The newspaper for that day announced the verdict. 'Guilty'.

Klara read the whole account, how Matt Engarde had hired an assassin to take out Juan Corrida to stop the contents of a suicide note being released, how Adrian Andrews had tried her best to make it seem like Matt was guilty, how Phoenix had tried everything he possibly could to keep the case going – although Klara couldn't tell why, exactly – until the final incriminating evidence was found and saved the day from a false verdictand an innocent woman's death. The fact that the evidence was delivered by one Franziska von Karma almost caused Klara to keel over in shock.

When the phone finally did ring, Klara snatched it up before it had a chance to do so more than once. "Miles!"

"Klara. I'm assuming you've read the newspaper version. There was a bit more to it than that, of course, but that about sums it up."

"Why did Phoenix drag the trial on?" Klara asked immediately. This had been bothering her since she read it.

Miles sighed, the static sound echoing down the line. "Phoenix? You're on first name terms now?" he asked, and Klara could almost see his smirk. "Well, you see, Maya was kidnapped."

"_Kidnapped?"_

"By the assassin, yes. What it all boils down to is that Wright trusted me to help him, just as I trusted him. You asked me to keep you posted, but I only have a chance to tell you now that…"

"That it was all a complete success, huh? Just like you told Ana."

Miles didn't answer that particular statement. "I'm at the airport, Klara. Franziska is on her way home. She's a little upset."

"Upset?"

"She threw her whip away. Something about shaming the family name."

"She threw her whip…?"

"Yes, but I gave it back to her. Wright gave it to me to do so," Miles continued. "It's possible it could take a while, Klara, but I think she's on her way, too."

Klara didn't ask what he meant. She already knew. "Miles?"

"Hm?"

"I'm proud of you."

Miles was silent for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Goodbye, Klara. I'll speak to you again later."

Klara hung up the phone, smiling. It had taken nearly sixteen years and a hell-load of help from a defence attorney, but they'd got there. Miles was now the person she'd always seen.

Franziska would probably prove to be a little more difficult, but they'd get there.

The only problem being, of course, that she now felt like she owed a ludicrous amount to a man she had never met.

* * *

**The ending of that chapter was difficult, and I'm not all too happy with it, but...eh. Reviews are loved~**


	8. Loss

**This chapter took forever x_x Sorry~ Anyway, I can't think of anything else to say except enjoy~ Oh, and this isn't the final chapter.**

**

* * *

**

**In Which There is Loss  
**

* * *

Franziska arrived at home the next day, immediately announcing she was exhausted and shutting herself in her bedroom without another word to anyone. Perhaps because of this, Fritz spent the next few hours periodically knocking on her door, shouting 'cheer up' and walking away. From downstairs, Klara heard at least eleven cracks of the whip in the first half an hour.

After three and a half hours of this, Klara felt it prudent to tell Fritz that enough was enough and could he please leave her sister alone. The reasoning behind this, of course, was that she didn't want bloodstains all over her carpet. Klara couldn't help but wonder how Fritz was even still conscious. Perhaps he had some sort of immunity to the whip now. Perhaps he just had a high pain tolerance. Or, even, he was maybe just excellent at dodging. Whatever the reason, he seemed perfectly happy when he finally came downstairs, grinning and informing his wife that it was most definitely Missy upstairs and not some imposter.

Ana was thrilled to have her aunt back home with them. She insisted on taking all of Franziska's meals up to her, something Klara only agreed to as it was guaranteed to keep her husband and sister apart.

* * *

Klara gave Franziska twenty four hours to recuperate from her journey before her overwhelming need to be motherly kicked in. She went upstairs, telling Ana to go and watch the television or something when the little girl refused her entry into Franziska's room.

Franziska herself was sitting at her desk, filling in what looked to be a form of some sort, but upon hearing heavier footsteps than those of the child who had been bothering her since she returned home, she put down the pen. "Klara," she greeted, without turning around.

"Nice to see you too, Franziska," Klara replied, smiling an amused smile before sitting down on Franziska's bed. The younger woman span her desk chair around until she was facing her. "We missed you," Klara continued. "Especially Ana."

"Yes,well, I suppose it is...nice...to see you all again. You and Ana, anyway. Friedrich, however..."

"Miles said roughly the same thing when he came back," Klara said thoughtfully, smirking slightly. At the sound of their brother's name, Franziska frowned, muttering something under her breath which Klara assumed was the word 'fool'.

Klara sighed. "Really, Franziska. Be nice."

Franziska did not smile. "Miles Edgeworth _is _a fool. He claims to be dead for months on end, letting no one know that he is, in fact, completely alive and well and then shows up without a care to steal _my _victory from me!"

Klara frowned. It made sense. Franziska has been in charge of that case until Miles had taken over. The defendant had,of course, been truly guilty. If Franziska had not been shot, chances are she would have finally won a case against Phoenix Wright and been succesful in acheiving her 'revenge'.

Franziska's frown had deepened. "Klara," she said slowly. "When Miles Edgeworth was 'dead', he has to have been hiding out somewhere."

"Yes. He was travelling. I told you as much," Klara replied quickly. She'd hoped this point wouldn't be brought up for a while.

"How exactly did you know?"

Klara sighed. Caught. "Because he was here for a good portion of the time, Franziska, as you have well guessed by now. It would sound incredibly childish of me to say 'he told me not to tell', but that is what happened."

"Ana told me. I did not honestly have to guess, although I already suspected as much."

"I didn't mean to lie to you..." Klara began.

Franziska turned back to her desk. "All people lie," she said, her voice toneless. Klara took this as a sign of dismissal, sighed and left the room.

* * *

Miles returned home in August, and, for about a month, the three siblings stayed together in the same house for the longest time in fourteen years.

It didn't work out so well.

Franziska was, understandably, furious with both her brother and sister and spent the majority of time as far away from them both as possible. Miles, on the other hand, was happier than Klara ever remembered seeing him. Klara spent the majority of her time trying - and failing - to find some sort of balance between the two.

There was no balance. Franziska was not only angry at her siblings, but also at the rest of the family. Fritz, of course, was just being himself. Ana's announcement of her new career plan tipped Franziska over the edge, consequentially making her even madder at Miles for suggesting it to the little girl in the first place.

Miles announced that he would once again be travelling around foreign countries, this time formally and quite alive, trying out their judicial systems. He claimed that the American judicial system, at the very least, needed an overhauling; the state it was in was apparently awful. Klara was torn between not wanting her brother to leave again so soon and getting him out of the house and as far away from Franziska as possible.

Ana, on the other hand, was quite certain of how things should go. "You got to go to lots of places, Onkel Miles, and bring us back stuff from _all _of them, okay? And you better come home and visit at Christmas, and on my birthday, and on Mama's birthday, and on Papa's birthday, and on Tante Fran's birthday, and on your birthday, and on Pess' birthday, and on Feenie's birthday, and-"

Miles interrupted her, keeping a straight face as he spoke. "Ana, how on earth am I supposed to visit anywhere to get you anything if I am constantly coming back home?"

Ana stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "You'll figure out something," she replied brightly.

"You, Ana Kirsche, are your mother's daughter through and through," Miles replied, sighing.

* * *

Miles left for Japan - his first stop on his around-the-world tour - at the beginning of September. He apparently had contacts there in law, and that was as good a place as any to start.

In the meantime, back home, Ana was beginning to develop an interest in what some would refer to as 'popular culture' and what her father would refer to as 'a waste of my money'. Of course, he would be lying. He was more interested in half of it than the ten-year-old was.

The first show that Ana ever chose to demand to be taken to see was a magic show. An group of American magicians, Troupe Gramarye as far as Klara could tell, were doing a tour and Ana was suddenly intensely interested in magic.

So, Fritz and Klara took the girl to the show - Franziska point-blank refusing to accompany them. From the minute they sat in their front-row balcony seats, Ana was excited. As the curtain rose, she leaned forwards so much that Fritz had to grab her from behind to make sure she didn't tumble over the edge and onto the spectators in the seats below.

Klara had seen this troupe before. Back the first time, it was Magnifi Gramarye. Lucinda had insisted that she be allowed to take the little girl to see the famous magician, and little Klara had been amazed. Years later, Klara had taken Franziska to see the 'new' magicians, Zak and Valant and the woman with a name Klara found dfficult to remember.

The magicians on stage now were the same as then, minus the woman. Klara had heard that she had just vanished one day, but nobody knew any details.

"They work so well together!" Ana cried, amazed, as the curtain for the first interval fell after Zak and Valant performed some big trick with the help of a little girl of around Ana's age.

"They're like a big family," Klara explained. "I think the little girl is one of their daughters, actually."

"She looks like she's a lot of fun. I wish she was _my _family!"

"Careful what you wish for, Jellybean," Fritz laughed. "All this family needs is another bunch of whackjobs to add to the pile."

* * *

Around Christmas, Miles returned home as he'd promised, bearing gifts from Japan where he claimed he had spent long enough. The next place that had been recommended to him, despite being geographically insensible, was a small country in northern Europe that went by the name of Borginia. He made the mistake of mentioning how tight border security was there and, consequentially, Ana was convinced her uncle was going to be arrested and offered to be his defence if need be.

Franziska, by this point, had calmed down in regards to Klara. However, her unspoken fury towards her brother seemed to still be there as strongly as ever. Since she had returned to Germany, she had won six of seven cases, something which still infuriated her. When Klara informed Miles of this, he'd just shrugged and reminded her it would take time.

It was roughly around then that Klara heard of Phoenix Wright's humiliating defeat. Still habitually buying American newspapers once a week, she read of Phoenix's apparently disgraceful loss, how he seemed not to be even trying and how the waitress woman was locked away in record time.

She thought - and Miles agreed with her - that something seemed off about it, although neither was quite sure what. As Miles put it, "I seriously doubt Wright would lose against Winston Payne."

Klara knew nothing about Prosecutor Payne, but the tone of Miles' voice summed it up perfectly.

* * *

Miles said he planned on staying until mid-February, and in the gap between him arriving and leaving, two things happened. One, she heard that the case with the waitress was given a retrial and found innocent, although neither she nor Miles read the article to find out why Phoenix had failed so badly the first time or who the prosecutor was.

The second annoyed Klara more.

Ana found her second - and infinitely more obsessive - interest around January, nearing her eleventh birthday.

Klara and Fritz came home from the publishing house where she had been personally arranging a deal - and Fritz had insisted on joining her - to hear loud music blasting from the speakers in the living room. She entered the room to see Ana staring, enthralled at the television which was currently set on a music channel and was displaying some sort of band of five young people. The boy at the front was blond, singing about how his boyfriend had supposedly witnessed some sort of murder and was witnessing for the prosecution. She had the niggling feeling she'd seen him somewhere before. Honestly, though, _this _was what music was about now? Courtroom drama?

Beside the singer stood another boy, presumably the lead guitarist. His hair appeared to be a dye-job gone horrifically wrong; no teenager in their right mind would _honestly _dye their hair white, would they? Perhaps it was the fashion, but Klara just thought it looked silly. Give it a few years and it would likely be worse. Judging by the stance of the two boys, and her intuition, Klara couldn't help but wonder if the young man with the bad haircut was the 'boyfriend' the vocalist was on about.

Before she had a chance to examine the other three, Ana noticed her. "Hey, Mama," she greeted. "Aren't they great?"

Klara refrained from commenting, instead wondering why Franziska or Miles - who was were looking after Ana while she was away - had not said anything about it. What she didn't expect was to notice Franziska sitting in a chair, staring at the television as raptly as the little girl had.

"You _like _this, Franziska?" Klara demanded as Fritz came in behind her and glanced at the TV with an expression of confusion on his face.

Franziska reached beside her for the remote to turn down the volume slightly. "It is tolerable," she replied. "Ana insisted, and I saw no harm in it."

Klara knew her sister well enough to know she was lying through her teeth, but before she could say anything, Fritz was speaking.

"Isn't that Kristoph Gavin's brother?" he asked.

Klara realised now where she had seen the boy before. Kristoph Gavin had been all over the news in the area a few years ago. He was six or seven years younger than Klara was, and apparently he was amazing at what he did. He quickly built up a reputation in Germany as, as the newspapers put it, an 'ace attorney', then left for America and started up one of the most successful law firms in Los Angeles. His brother had been in the newspapers more recently; apparently he had taken the bar exam and was now also living in America. The media seemed amazed that the boy was only seventeen and already a qualified prosecuter. Klara, of course, had no reason to find this extraordinary. In fact, looking at him now, he seemed like a bit of a...well, a fop. She couldn't for the life of her remember his name.

"His name's Klavier," Ana said, as if hearing her thoughts. "Klavier Gavin. That guy there is Daryan Crescend. Those two are my favourites! Especially Klavier. Isn't he handsome? And he's only seven years older than me!"

"Jellybean, his _boyfriend _is the prosecution's witness?" Fritz said lightly.

"That's the song," Ana replied, innocent as ever.

"Well-"

_CRACK._

"If you have nothing of use to say, Friedrich, you may leave the room," Franziska said calmly, placing her whip back by her side.

Klara sighed. "Where's Miles?" she asked.

Ana and Franziska looked at each other for a split second. Klara saw the hint of a smirk appear on her sister's face as a fully blown grin blossomed on her daughter's.

"Hiding in his room," Ana replied.

* * *

From that moment on, all Ana would talk about was Klavier and his blond hair, Klavier and his blue eyes - "How very Aryan," Fritz had commented, before receiving a rant about how bad that was, and how he shouldn't be saying stuff like that, etc. for about half an hour before he finally apologised. Of course he hadn't meant any harm by it, but you have to be careful around rabid fangirls, especially those with whips.

For, unexpectedly, Franziska seemed to be joining in. The band - the Gavinners (a name which Klara refrained from commenting on) - seemed to have taken over the minds of the mansion's two youngest residents. Especially the foppish blond boy.

* * *

February 7th. Klara was unsure of the time, but everyone was asleep. Klara has simply gotten up to check on Ana - who was feeling a little ill the day before. She passed Miles' bedroom on the way, and, as if triggered by her footsteps, his cellphone began to ring.

She heard a crash as he jolted awake, then his voice, loud and clear and in English through the slightly open door.

"...Yes? Edgeworth speaking..." A pause. "Huh? Larry...? Do you know what time it is?"

There was along silence. Klara almost suspected Miles had fallen asleep again until;

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time, so...Wh-What...!? What happened!? Tell me!"

The sudden panic in Miles' voice worried Klara. "Alright," he continued eventually. "I don't know what's going on, but... I'll be there as soon as I can."

About three seconds later, Miles' room door burst open. He looked panicked, as though something was horribly wrong.

"What is it? What's going on?" Klara demanded.

"There's no time," Miles snapped, seeming unsurprised to see her there. "I need to get to America. Now."

"I'll call for you," Klara replied worriedly. "Go and get ready."

Miles went back into his room while Klara reached for her phone, contacting and chartering a jet within three minutes of conversation. It wasn't the first time she had done so.

Miles hurried past her on his way out of the room, but she kept up. "You are _not _driving in that state," she said sharply in reply to his exasperated look.

* * *

The whole way there, Miles was on the phone, arranging things and talking to and shouting at people. He had an explanation forced out of him by his sister between sentences.

Apparently, Phoenix Wright had been in some sort of serious accident and according to Larry was quite possibly dying. Despite never having met the man, Klara felt a jolt in her stomach and a prickle in her eyes at this as she dropped Miles off, waving a hasty goodbye.

Phoenix couldn't die. Surely not. Not now. Not after everything.

* * *

'Surely not' was right. Miles called her, hours later, withdrawing her from her panic-filled state to inform her of the details. Or rather, not. All she was told was that 'Wright is not dead, but I need a favour. I need you to ask Franziska something for me...'

* * *

Franziska left for America an hour or two after this, knowing nothing except there was a case waiting that she had been specifically requested to prosecute.

Klara heard nothing more until, another hour later, Miles called again. "Elise Deauxnim," was all he said. He sounded exhausted.

"The children's author?" Klara replied, confused.

When Miles spoke again, he sounded relieved. "You know her?"

"Of course I do. Ana's extremely fond of her books."

"No, I mean...you're an author, Klara. Have you ever _met _her?"

"Just because we're both authors, Miles...actually, yes, I have. Two years ago. Why?"

"Well, she's the victim."

"_What?!_"

"Yes, and we can't find anything about her. Do you know anything?"

Klara frowned. "Not much. Nobody does. She's a mystery, like her name."

She heard a sigh from the other end of the line, a mumbled thank you and then a click. That would be the last she heard until a while the case was over.

* * *

One week later, Miles called to announce he and Franziska were on their way home. He sounded positively ecstatic as he said so.

Klara could tell that the story she would hear when they arrived would be interesting.

* * *

It was like something out of a twisted fairy tale. Fritz, Ana and Klara all sat listening, amazed, while Miles and Franziska recounted the story to them.

Miles told them of Phoenix's murder charge in college, of the woman behind it all, the same woman who had so damaged him and the young Mia Fey in his first case. He told them how she'd been executed almost two months previously, how that was supposed to be the end. He mentioned how Dahlia Hawthorne's twin, the defendant, had actually been the one dating Phoenix in college.

He stumbled on his words at that point. Fritz, uncharacteristically, did not comment.

Franziska took up the narrative, telling them of the murder and how it had all been to do with spirits and switches and how nothing was quite what it seemed.

Then Miles told them of Prosecutor Godot, who he really was, how he tied in. Klara noticed the sympathy in Miles' voice as he spoke of the man. Diego Armando may have killed a person, but Miles seemed to see it differently, probably in the same way Klara did as she was being told the story.

Ana interrupted then. "I thought Tante Fran was the prosecutor!" she said accusingly.

"She was," Miles confirmed. "During the first half of the trial, while Wright wasn't defending."

"Then who was?"

"I was, of course."

The shocked silence that followed those words seemed to amuse Miles. Klara knew, now, why he was so happy. He had finally lived out the dream of the nine year old boy who had first become her brother.

The story seemed to go on for hours. Finally, when it was over, Miles made an announcement. "I plan on returning to America, once I have tied up everything here," he informed them. "Probably around the end of April or the beginning of May. And I plan to make it permanent."

"Permanent?" Ana asked.

"I think the last two years have evidenced sufficiently that Wright can not manage without me," Miles replied, a small smile on his face. It was not a smirk. It was a smile. Franziska, too, was smiling, was the first time in a long time.

Klara had never felt so happy. "I owe Phoenix Wright so much, you know," she muttered.

Miles heard her. "Well, you're due a holiday. When I leave...you should come with me. Not permanently, of course, but..."

Klara beamed. "I'd love to," she said immediately.

"You're going nowhere without us," Fritz cut in quickly, laughing.

* * *

May 2nd was the day they were due to leave. It was April 30th, and everyone in the house was getting overexcited. Even Franziska agreed to accompany them, so the challenge was on to organise four adults, a child and two dogs in time to leave in two days.

Naturally, Klara still bought the American newspapers. It was a habit she doubted she'd ever get out of. She was flicking through that night, after finally getting Ana to go to bed, when she saw the name 'Phoenix Wright' jump out at her from the page. Curious, she turned to the article and began to read.

The newspaper fell to the floor as she ran upstairs to get her brother.

* * *

"A mistake," Klara said frankly. "It has to be."

"I doubt it, Klara," Miles snapped at her. He looked furious. Then he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and stopping pacing. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"It's fine," Klara replied quickly.

"Let me see it again," he demanded.

Klara held out the paper. He snatched it and read over it, once, twice, three times, more desperatley each time, although wishing to change what was written there.

"But he _would't _have!" Klara burst.

"How do you know?" Miles replied. "How do you know what Wright would and would not do?"

"You know him, Miles. You know he would _never..._"

"I don't know him," Miles replied, sharp and cold. "Not if _this _is him."

"It isn't!" Klara objected. "You saw him two months ago, Miles! You _know..._"

"I know that people are good at hiding their intentions," Miles interrupted bitterly, and Klara couldn't help but agree on that point. "It's possible that the power went to his head, I don't know. But if this is true, he is not the man I thought he was. Disbarred...for forging evidence! No, Klara. If he has an explanation, he can call me. Otherwise..."

Klara saw the pain in Miles' eyes as he turned away and headed for the stairs.

"You can stop hiding now, both of you," Klara added, massaging her temples with her fingers as she sat down.

Ana and her father had both quite clearly been listening in. They entered the room, both frowning.

"Disbarred? Forging evidence? Phoenix Wright?" Fritz demanded.

"Apparently," Klara replied tiredly, pointing at the newspaper at her feet. Fritz picked it up, his frown deepening as he read. "I don't see Miles getting over this one any time soon, do you?" Klara continued.

Fritz shook his head slowly, not answering out loud as he threw the paper aside in digust.

"What does _disbarred _mean?" Ana asked. No answer. She repeated herself, annoyed.

"It means trip's off, Jellybean," Fritz told her in a heavy voice. "Come on. Bed time. You, too, Klara."

"I think I'll wait a while," Klara muttered. Quite apart from anything, she had the feeling Miles would be back down soon. She wasn't letting him go through this alone.

Fritz looked ready to argue, then shook his head. "Goodnight, Klara."

"'night, Mama."

Once they had left, Klara once again glanced at the paper where it was thrown.

No, she thought suddenly. She refused to believe it.

No matter what anyone said, Phoenix Wright could not possibly be that kind of man.

The man who had saved her brother could not be the same kind of person that her father had been.

* * *

**As ever, reviews are loved~ Oh, and some of the dialogue is direct from T&T :P  
**


	9. Reflection

**A few weeks ago, I would have had an excuse for this. I had swine flu, so that was two weeks of writing time gone. Since then, however, with one thing and another, I've simply lost all motivation. I'm sorry!**

**Oh, for the record? This is NOT Franziska/Klavier. At all. **

**Also, warning! Imminent time jump!**

**If you're still willing to read, enjoy~  
**

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* * *

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**In Which There Is Reflection**

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* * *

**

It was amazing, Ana thought, how such a small incident could affect her life so thouroughly. Logically speaking, a man that only two people in her family had ever met should not have any effect on how the girl lived at all. So a defence attorney had lost his job, a man who was friends with Ana's uncle. Fine, fair enough. It was pretty sad, but not world-destroying, reasonably speaking.

Of course, one thing Ana Kirsche's family was not was reasonable, as she had confirmed by simple observation over the last nineteen months.

Her Onkel Miles, of course was taking it the worst. He reminded her more of the Miles she remembered from her early childhood, and the Miles from directly after the whole issue with that silly note he'd left than the Miles she had grown used to since. It was unsettling, in a way, to see the man spiralling into the depths of despair, fully aware that every passing day would make it more difficult for him to return. She was almost certain that the only thing keeping him going was Pess. Pess was almost always by her master's side, and Ana knew he talked to her constantly. Feenie, on the other hand, was to be kept well out of his way. The entire family had taken to calling the dog by the nickname Ana had for him, simply because 'Phoenix' was now up there with swearing on the 'do not say' scale.

Not that Miles didn't talk about him. Whenever the phone rang, Ana would watch as Miles jumped to his feet to answer it, and then looked disappointed when he heard whoever it was on the other end. His work, too, was simply mechanic; he went, he performed, he left. Ana had been to see three of his trials since the whole incident began and she had seen it. Oh, he did his job and he did it well, but the life had gone out of it, like an actor playing a role he just doesn't like. His spark was gone.

Unless, of course, he and Ana's mother mentioned Phoenix Wright while in the same room together. Then it came back; less of a spark than it was a towering inferno. Everytime the phone went and Miles jumped for it - almost _every _time for the last _five hundred and sixty seven _days - Klara would sigh, loudly and meaningfully. Miles would ask if there was a problem, and she'd say no. There would be a silence, at which point Ana would either swiftly leave the room or stay and listen, depending on whether or not she was wanting a show, and Klara would say, "Well, if _you _just called _him..."_

The difference between Miles and Klara was simple to work out, Ana knew, if one thought about it rationally. Her Onkel Miles had and would never find it easy to trust people, something any fool could tell at a glance, never mind after nearly thirteen years of knowing him. Once someone had his trust, however, it took something shattering to break it. He judged people rather logically, it seemed to Ana. He would generally try to get a bit of knowledge about the person first.

Ana's mother made her judgements quickly and generally stuck to them. She trusted people easily, but she also very easily mistrusted people, and she did more of the second than she did the first. Klara tended to be firm in her opinions of people no matter what, and it would probably take a murder before someone lost her trust who had it. With the people she did not trust, it took a spectacular display of proving her opinion wrong before she'd even begin to reconsider. Phoenix Wright, apparently, fell into the former category.

The arguments were spectacular to watch. Sometimes Ana thought it was a pity that her maternal grandfather had put her mother off of any courtroom occupation for life, because in Ana's opinion she'd make one hell of a defence lawyer. Klara would argue fiercely, her voice ranging from a yell to a hiss - and quieter, Ana knew from experience, was always more deadly. She would make her point and defend it fiercely, no matter what.

Miles, a trained prosecutor, knew exactly how to argue back. But on the few occasions she'd watched her mother and her uncle argue, Ana had noticed something. His arguments were weak. Ana knew that Miles wanted to side with her mother - he _wanted, _more than anything, to believe what Klara was shouting at him - but also that, no matter how he tried, he couldn't.

They usually kept it going for around an hour, sometimes less, sometimes a bit more, but the quarrels always ended the same way. One or both of the two involved parties would cry - though if Miles did that, he would simply barricade himself in his room and deny he was doing any such thing - and then, later, they would reconcile with the same mumbled apologies. Of course, invariably, the phone would ring again and the cycle restarted.

Miles and Klara weren't the only ones affected by the whole thing, of course. Whenever Phoenix Wright was mentioned in front of Ana's Tante Fran, for example, she would either get furious and storm off or change the subject sharply and with no room for disagreement. Franziska was quite obviously upset by the whole ordeal, but whether or not she thought that Phoenix had honestly forged the evidence, Ana could not decide.

And then there was Ana's father. Fritz was strange in how he seemed to be dealing with it all. To escape the arguing, he'd become a more 'active parent' - he used Ana to get out of the house as much as possible. His business hours, for the same reason, also rose significantly. He seemed to honestly neither know nor care whether or not Phoenix had done it. When Ana asked him, out of simple curiosity, what side he'd logically take, he'd laughed. "You can try all you want, Jellybean, but you can't rationalise the world. There's no _logic _involved here. He either did it or he didn't, but the fact remains that human emotions are going to cloud the views until we're given solid evidence otherwise," he'd told her. Then, as an afterthought - and rather tastelessly - he'd added, "So long as the evidence in question isn't forged."

Despite his tactless jokes, Friedrich had given the almost-thirteen year old something to think about.

Before speaking with her father, Ana had _her _view on the thing sorted. Based on the little she knew about the man, his past and his personality, she'd been certain he had not done it. Logically speaking. However, she now realised something very important - that view was entirely subjective. What she knew consisted of no more than what she and her parents had been told by her uncle, a man perhaps more biased than anyone.

So, in rational terms, there was no answer. Not based on what anyone here knew. This frustrated Ana endlessly.

Feelings for other people certainly had a way of messing up your judgement. She hoped she'd never experience something so ridiculous - at least, not for a while.

Sighing, the girl turned to the television and flicked to the music channel.

* * *

It was the very next day, while Ana was once again glued to the music channel while her mother watched disapprovingly and Miles read the newspaper, that a small tinkling sound came from the table, accompanied by vibration. Ana glanced up to see Miles and Klara both freeze, suddenly alert. Franziska, who had also been watching the show, got to her feet and left the room without a word.

Ana, too, got to her feet. She did not, however, leave. Instead, she grabbed the cellphone that Miles had left on the table and pressed the green call button before either of them could do a thing.

Impulsiveness. Not something she was used to in herself.

"Hallo?" she asked, while her uncle and mother glared at her.

The voice on the other end was male, accented American and speaking in English. He sounded surprised, for obvious reasons. "Uh...is...um...who is this?"

Ana blinked. No _way. _She would play it safe for now."Ich heisse Ana Kirsche," she replied lightly. "Ich nehme an, Sie suchen Miles Edgeworth?"

"Uh, I don't speak German..."

"'Miles Edgeworth' ist offensichtlich nicht einen deutschen Namen, Herr Wright. Sie sind Herr Wright, ja?" Ana replied. She knew it was childish, speaking in German to confuse him, but this was the best revenge she could get at the moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Klara's eyes widen almost comically and watched as Miles jumped to his feet.

"Um...my name is Phoenix Wright. I...er...want to...uh...talk to Miles."

He was speaking slowly, Ana noticed with some amusement. He obviously thought she didn't understand him. Although how speaking so slowly would break the language barrier if she did not, she didn't know. "Ich spreche perfekt Englisch, Herr Wright. Mein Onkel Miles wartet seit über einem Jahr für diese. Bitte stellen Sie diese gute Nachricht, oder ich weiß nicht, was er tun wird."

"What?"

"Einen Augenblick bitte," Ana replied politely, turning to her uncle and handing the phone over without another word.

Silently, Klara stood up and the two females left the room.

Human emotions were wonderfully awful things. Ana did not think her uncle would appreciate them watching if he cried.

* * *

It was hours later that Miles eventually finished talking. He burst into the kitchen, barely restraining some sort of wild emotion as he did so, a large smile plastered over his face, looking strange and foreign after everything.

"Looks like you were right, Jellybean. I owe you money," Fritz told his daughter. He had came in an hour or two ago, and, once Klara had informed him what was happening, immediately made bets on the outcome.

Klara hushed him, standing up to meet her brother. "Well? What did he say?"

So Miles told her exactly what Phoenix had told him about the trial; how the little girl had given him the evidence, how the prosecutor had almost seemed to know it was coming, - Klara saw Ana scowl at this; her daughter was well aware of Klara's opinion of one Klavier Gavin - how the defendant vanished and how Phoenix was still determindley investigating.

"I told you," Klara said when he was finally finished, smiling slightly as she sat back down. "So Zak Gramarye...vanished?"

"He is a magician, after all," Miles replied wryly.

"Zak Gramarye?" Ana piped up from beside him, frowning. "Isn't he that magician we saw? Didn't he have a little girl?"

Klara nodded. She seemed to remember a girl when she went to the last Gramarye show. "I think so. I suppose she'll be taken in to a foster home or something until they can find her permanent home..."

"No," Miles replied. "The girl...Trucy, I think her name was...she's staying with Wright. She's legally his daughter now."

"He took her in?" Klara asked. "Really?"

"Apparently. She constantly repeated 'Daddy, can I have money?' while Wright and I were talking."

"Hold it right there, Miles." Now Fritz was on his feet, hands on the table. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"What?"

"Being a mother is a _huge _responsibility. Are you sure you're ready for it?"

Silence. The sound of the clock ticking was heard in the background as Klara waited for Miles' reaction. When it came, it was entirely unexpected.

He laughed. Miles laughed, long and loud, and soon everyone had joined in.

Klara was content. Human emotions were a wonderful thing.

* * *

Miles did not go back to America, despite the fact he claimed to once and for all believe that Phoenix had not forged the evidence, and that the whole thing had just been one long misunderstanding. He said that it would have never worked out going to America permanantly, though he never specifically explained why.

Over the next five and-a-bit years, Miles did what he did best - travelled. He continued on the 'tour' which had been cut short, and kept in constant contact with Phoenix Wright. He constantly came back home, usually for a month or two at a time, bearing stories from around the world to entertain his ever demanding sister and niece.

Meanwhile, at home, things did not change a lot. Ana grew older, of course, and her fixation with the band only grew stronger. It irritated Klara - perhaps a little unreasonably - how Ana still fancied herself in love with the singer despite how rational her mind usually was.

With the girl's schooling almost up, Klara knew the time would be approaching soon - the time where Ana would legally be in the courthouse, defending. While still not one hundred percent happy with her daughter's decision, Klara was happy Ana had stuck to the defence route, and was certain that no matter what the girl would pass her exam. Ana expressed an interest in going abroad to take the exam and defend - perhaps to America, as was her suggestion - but Klara was against it, her reasoning being that if Ana could come up with a solid _reason _to move to America, she would allow it.

Klara's list of acceptable reasons, of course, only included a few things, and most of those were family related.

Then there was Franziska. She has, perhaps, changed the most out of Klara's remaining family members. While not changing a lot personality-wise for the most part, twenty-six year old Franziska was much calmer and perhaps more rational than her eighteen year old self. The way Fritz put it, when Klara started a conversation about it, was 'she's less of a _prosecutor _now; more of a _lawyer_'. Klara couldn't help but think this summed it up nicely. The habit of addressing people by their full names was also rapidly fading.

Klara herself had not made any great changes, nor had her husband. Klara's life was back in a comfortable rhythm, and she was very happy with it. No doubt, of course, it would be rocked again but for now she was extremely satisfied, even as she looked at the notice Fritz and Ana had tacked to the wall: "_Days without disaster: 2,350"_. Ana had been updating it every day since the whole mess with Phoenix 'forging evidence' had been sorted out and would constantly point it out as a reminder when voices were raised.

* * *

Naturally, it was the newspaper which almost-but-not-quite ruined the peace. Klara was still in her routine of buying both German and American newspapers, even though it had been seven years since Phoenix Wright last stood in court.

Which is how she found out about him standing in court again...as the defendant. Miles, who was at home and sitting on the chair across from her, reading the local newspaper, looked up at her gasp as she read the first few lines of the article. He took the newspaper as she held it out, read it, and sighed.

"Really, this is the third time now," he muttered, turning the page to continue the story. "Oh. I wouldn't worry, Klara, Prosecutor Payne is on the case."

Klara sat there, watching as he read on. She wondered how he would've reacted to this a few years ago. Probably not nearly as sanely.

"...Justice. Where have I heard that name before...?" Miles mused.

"Justice?" Klara repeated, confused. "What do you mean?"

"_'Wright will be defended by rookie defence attorney Apollo Justice,'" _Miles quoted.

"Rookie? He has a rookie defending him?"

"_'Justice is currently an employee of the Ga...'" _Miles trailed off. "Ah. I see what's going on."

Miles might, but Klara most certainly did not. "The Ga-what?"

"Gavin and Co Law Offices," he replied, handing the paper back over and searching for his phone. "It's about time. Although that it had to come to this..."

"You're making absolutely no sense," Klara informed him. "Gavin, as in Klavier Gavin?"

"Gavin as in Kristoph Gavin," Miles said, dialling a number. "And you're right. None of it makes any sense."

Klara knew there was no point in demanding further explanation.

* * *

The next day Miles spent with a frown on his face. Klara did not have a chance to talk to him all morning; she had work to do and the publisher she was currently with was extremely strict about her deadline

It was dinner before they were all together, and even then Klara was not given her chance. Before she could say a thing, Ana was speaking.

"Onkel Miles, is there something wrong?" she demanded.

The table fell silent. Fritz stopped making jokes at Franziska - who looked like she was going to hurt him badly - and turned to face his brother-in-law. Klara put down her spoon slowly, preparing for bad news.

"No," Miles replied shortly.

Ana sighed. "Really, don't start all this again. We've had enough drama in this family to last a lifetime. _What _is wrong_? _I assume it is to do with Phoenix Wright_, _hasn't it?_"_

Miles blinked, obviously taken aback. He wasn't the only one. "Nothing is wrong," he answered slowly. "Wright got aquitted, of course. There are no problems."

"Then why, Miles, have you been walking around like a depressed teenager?" Fritz chimed in.

"Because he finds it impossible to give things up," Miles muttered.

Franziska, who until now had been eating her own dinner and studiously ignoring them, snorted. "Really, Miles, this is a surprise to you?"

Klara glanced at her sister, then looked back to her brother, who was smiling in a way that was quite clearly unwilling. "Not in the slightest," he replied. "But I have the feeling this could all go horribly wrong."

* * *

Miles never did explain clearly what was likely to go 'horribly wrong'. With Phoenix acquitted - again - and him apparently hiring the aforementioned rookie lawyer, it seemed that the cross-continental life that the family had slipped into without thought was once again on vaguely harmonious terms.

To any normal person, that is.

Miles now spent the majority of his time on the phone, looking more and more distressed every time he did so. More than once, Klara found him asleep at the table over some law books, although when asked what he was doing she would get no answer.

The boy, Justice, was the lawyer who now found himself working at Phoenix's office - or _agency, _as Miles pointed out with rising scorn in his voice. The case which found him employed there was one which sparked keen interest in the household; the prosecutor was the infamous Klavier Gavin, leading Ana and Franziska to interest and subsequent shock when Apollo Justice won.

That was June 17th. It took around three days for Ana to recover from her shock enough to bring up an important point with her mother.

"Mama, Onkel Miles hasn't been to see Phoenix Wright yet, even after all this time," she said lightly, in a deliberately offhand voice as the two sat together in the living room, Ana with Phoenix the dog at her feet.

"No, he hasn't," Klara agreed absentmindedly, not looking up from her manuscript which she was checking over for errors, having been in a rush to meet her deadline.

"We should all go," Ana continued, still in the same neutral tone. "Maybe next month. Get it over and done with?"

Klara did look up at this. "You want to meet Phoenix Wright, Ana? I was under the impression you weren't very fond of him," she said, trying to work out what was going on behind her daughter's innocent face.

"Well...I..."

Ana's floundering was interrupted by her father, who was at the time attempting to stop Pess attacking Ana's dog after the male had splattered mud all over the female's golden fur. She was so much like her owner. "Hey, Jellybean, you know what I heard recently?" he asked, clinging to Pess' collar and trying to shoo Phoenix away, being ignored by the Border collie who simply bounded around the two, barking joyfully.

"Fritz, _will _you get those dogs out of here?" Klara demanded. "I'm trying to work."

"What did you hear, Papa?" Ana asked.

"I heard that a certain band is having a concert next month in LA. That wouldn't be anything to do with your request, now would it?"

Klara gave a small sigh, understanding completely. She watched as her daughter's face reddened. "N...no!" Ana stuttered. "Not at all! I mean...Onkel Miles..."

"Miles is going anyway," Fritz continued, and Klara stared at him. She hadn't heard about this.

"When?"

"He's making his final arrangements. He should be leaving in a few days. I thought he'd have told you?"

Klara thought back, but couldn't recall it being mentioned. Perhaps her brother had simply not gotten around to it yet. "I'll ask him later. Now, will you _please_ get those animals _out_ of here?"

"Come on, Jellybean, give me some help here," Fritz called. Irritated by her plan's obvious failure, Ana stormed off to drag the overexcited Feenie out of the room.

* * *

On the day of Miles' departure, Ana was mutinous. Despite her constant pleadings, she was not allowed to accompany her uncle to America, despite the fact that his plane would land on the day of the concert. It was, in her opinion, horrendously unfair.

She had even gone so far as to appeal to her aunt. It had been at dinner, and it seemed to amuse her parents and uncle to no end as Franziska hesitated before replying that she had work to do and thus would remain in Germany. Franziska was quick to add that Ana had some studying to do if she planned to take the bar exam next year, and thus there was no sense in her jetting off to see a concert either.

Miles had not confided in anyone, as far as Ana knew, about why he had chosen now to leave. She knew for certain that her aunt didn't know, and when she'd questioned her mother and father, she hadn't even recieved an answer.

It made no sense, logically speaking, that this was all for Phoenix Wright. Why, after _seven years_, would he choose _today? _Then again, her uncle was not known for his rationality when the ex-defence attorney was involved. However, what would cause him to choose this time to fly there for that purpose, even allowing for his lack of logic?

No, the reason probably had something to do with whatever project he had spent the last few years working on. All Ana knew was that it was something important, something top secret, and something, once again, to do with the now-badgeless American.

She had gone with her mother to see Miles off at the airport. After a few moments of agonsing, she took his arm and pulled him aside.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Was there something you wanted?"

Ana stared evenly back. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

Miles' gaze met hers, and for a second there was silence. Then he chuckled. "Stubborn as your mother," he commented, glancing back to where Klara was arguing loudly with a cab driver. "No. No I am not. Not yet."

"But that's not fair!"

"It will benefit you in the long run, Ana, believe me," Miles told her, then without another word strode off to free the driver from the wrath of his sister.

* * *

On the way back home, Ana sat in silence, staring out of her window. Klara herself was in a very similar position. It took about twenty minutes of this before either broke the tension, and when they did it was in unison.

"What's wrong?" they both asked, then, after a beat, simutaneous laughter.

"You aren't still angry with me about the concert, are you, dear?" Klara asked her.

Ana shook her head. "No. I just...Onkel Miles is behaving really oddly, isn't he? What do you suppose it could be? He wouldn't tell me, and he _always _tells me things." She was aware of how childish this sounded, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't care.

Klara frowned. "I don't know, Ana. He wouldn't tell me either. But I know one thing for certain."

"What is it?"

"Something's brewing, Ana. Something big is about to happen. Can't you feel it?"

Ana's turn to frown. She had never been one to act on feelings. But... "You think his going today is going to cause something?" she asked.

"I think his going is part of something. Something big," Klara replied.

Ana thought about it for a second, going over her uncle's words to her, "_It will benefit you in the long run, Ana, believe me."_

Yes, she realised, her mother was right. Something was clearly about to happen, and her uncle was obviously involved.

It would change something, although what this was she could not guess.

And she knew for _damned _certain that this was entirely the fault of _that _man.

* * *

**Translation of German (in order): **_**  
"Hello?"  
"My name is Ana Kirsche"..."I suppose you are looking for Miles Edgeworth?"**  
**"'Miles Edgeworth' is obviously not a German name, Mr. Wright. You are Mr. Wright, yes?"  
"I speak perfect English, Mr. Wright. My Uncle Miles has been waiting for over a year for this. Please put this good news, or I do not know what he will do."  
"One moment, please."**_

**Sorry for any errors in the above. Reviews, as always, are loved~  
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	10. Disaster

**My apologies for my long absence. No, I really don't have many excuses that anyone would be interested in. A bit of a tough time, and I lost all motivation for writing at all. But I'm back now, with this chapter. Hopefully, it will make up for it.**

**Note: I'm firmly rooted in the belief that Phoenix is at least bisexual. Just saying.**

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* * *

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**In Which There is Disaster**

* * *

"Onkel Miles!"

Miles Edgeworth was not as surprised as he probably should be by the young girl running at high speed towards him and throwing her arms around him as soon as he stepped through the gateway at the airport. He was unsurprised that the momentum almost sent him crashing to the ground. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that she continued to cling to him long after he'd finished returning the hug.

He was surprised that the girl was alone in her assault, and looking over her head confirmed that nobody was with her. It surprised him now, thinking about it, that while she was clinging, she was silent. It was unlike the girl not to be babbling at him nineteen to the dozen when he returned. And it did surprise him, more than anything, that behind her glasses, on the one part of her face not obscured by his chest, he could see tears building up and streaming down her cheeks.

Unaccustomed to dealing with this sort of thing, he hesitated, then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently away from him; not far enough away to make her detach, but enough that he could see her clearly.

"Ana. What's wrong?" he asked, in the gentlest voice he could manage – a difficult feat after nearly eleven hours on a cross-continental flight .

After a few hiccups, Ana could finally reply. "Y...you should _know_!" she snapped through her tears. The accusation in her voice took Miles aback. "M...mama's been t...trying to ca...to call you! Since a month ago!"

Miles felt his cheeks colour as he took out his phone and switched it on. Yes, he had some missed calls from yesterday, but he had ignored them. He hadn't a choice. He'd been with...with someone. He'd been congratulating him on the results of the first trial under the new system, and they'd been talking about another incident which had occurred just before it. When he'd been drunk. When he'd admitted that he...

"Onkel Miles, are you even listening to me? Papa is in _hospital!_"

"...what?"

"He collapsed! Two days ago!" Ana was no longer crying. She was turning away from her uncle, striding away towards the exit. Miles had to jog slightly to catch up with her.

"_Collapsed?"_

"Yes, Onkel Miles! Collapsed!"

By this point, they were outside, heading towards the car that was waiting for them. It was unusually warm for mid-October, extraordinarily so. Miles could see his younger sister in the front of the vehicle, reading something while she waited on them. This gave Miles an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; he couldn't remember the last time Klara didn't make a point of meeting him at the airport, regardless of circumstances. Whatever was going on must be serious.

As if on cue, his phone rang. He stopped where he was to answer it. In his peripheral vision he noticed Ana stop beside him.

"Miles?" a tired voice asked, sounding relieved and exhausted and a million other things at once. "Is that you?

"Klara," Miles replied. "What's going on?"

Through tears, Klara explained her husband's situation to him, as well as muttering something about 'one disaster after another'. Miles' frown deepened as he heard more details, feeling more and more guilty about how long it had been since he'd heard from his family in Germany – about a month, if not more. He noticed Franziska look up from her book and towards them, but ignored it.

"His...heart...?" he repeated. "Still unconscious. I see. Would you like us to...no, okay, we'll just go home. Yes, I'll look after Ana. When is he expected to...critical? Of course. Be sure to get some rest. Yes, he'll be fine. I..." here Miles hesitated. He didn't say this often, and Klara knew it. But she needed his reassurance at that moment. "I love you too. I'll talk to you later, Klara." Feeling slightly embarrassed, he ended the call and started walking towards the car again.

It took a few seconds before he noticed a flash of worry across the waiting Franziska's face, then realised that Ana was no longer beside him. He turned to see where she was and noticed she was still standing in the same spot. All the colour had drained from her face. There was a glazed look in her eyes as she stared straight ahead, unblinking. Some part of Miles sensed what was coming, somehow, and the sound of the car door opening behind him told him that Franziska had sensed it too. Miles hurried back to his niece's side, feeling like he was on auto-pilot, arms outstretched to catch her the second before she fell.

* * *

Ana blinked back into consciousness a few hours later, not entirely sure of what was going on. It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up with the rest of her body.

Where was she? In her bedroom, it seemed. Her own bedroom, in her own bed. Interesting. She raised a hand to her forehead and felt cold. There was a cold compress on her head.

How did she get here? She wasn't sure. The last thing she remembered...ah yes, picking her uncle up at the airport. And then her mother had called him...about her father...

Before she could ponder any more, the door opened, and her aunt entered the room. "How are you feeling?" Franziska asked her, voice stiff.

"I...I'm fine, Tante Fran," Ana replied, surprised to realise that this was true. "No lasting damage. What happened?"

"You fainted," Franziska replied briskly, approaching the bed and sitting down beside her. "Miles caught you and brought you into the car, then inside the house. There is no need to worry, you were simply overcome by the heat as well as your stress about your father on top of...everything else."

"Oh," Ana frowned, sitting up. "Where is Onkel Miles?"

"Downstairs, with the dogs," Franziska told her. "It seems that his Pess' age is catching up with her."

"Is she ill?" Ana asked, removing the compress from her forehead as she stood up.

Franziska stood up beside her, frowning. "Yes. It's simply old age. There is no cure." Ana knew that Franziska saw no point in lying to her. Why bother?

* * *

The next day, Ana and her aunt and uncle went along to the hospital to visit her father. Her mother greeted them, looking exhausted. She had, Ana knew, been keeping a constant vigil by Fritz's side since he'd collapsed, or at least as far as the doctors would let her. The rest of the time she spent in the waiting room, asleep on the hard chairs provided there.

"How is he, Mama?" Ana asked her mother immediately, clinging to her hand as they headed to the ward, feeling more eight than eighteen.

"He's awake," Klara replied. "And quite well, considering. He'll tell you himself." She then turned to her brother, and her eyes were cold. "Have you been having fun?" she asked him. The group stopped walking.

"What?"

"We needed you, Miles. We needed you, and you wouldn't even have the decency to return our calls for over a month."

Miles flinched. "Well, I..." he started, then trailed off, unable to think of any reasonable excuse. There were none.

"Mama, not just now," Ana muttered, tugging at her hand. "Please."

Klara ignored her. "Did you know, Miles, how much my daughter has needed you? Never mind the rest of us."

Miles looked at Ana, the surprise clear in his face. Ana turned away, letting go of her mother's hand and walking over to her aunt. Franziska looked at her, then spoke to Klara. "Ana is right, Klara. Now is not the time."

Klara frowned, but turned from her brother and swept away. The other three followed, Miles looking bewildered. He never asked, but Ana could see the confusion in his eyes.

* * *

Fritz was sitting awake when the three women and the man entered his room. He looked paler than usual, with a few tubes connecting his body to machines, but otherwise he looked the same as ever. Ana bolted straight for him, and after a general gabble of hugs and "don't worry me like that"-s and "are you alright?"-s, the family sat down on chairs around the bed and they began to talk.

"The doctors tell me I'll be allowed home in a few days," Fritz informed them. "Recovery time will take a bit longer, but I was lucky. Then again, we know me. Tough as nails." His eyes took in the varied expressions of his family, all relieved, some teary, some awkward. Took in his daughter, who simply looked ready to break down. "Hey, Jellybean," he said softly. "You okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Ana replied, wiping her eyes. "As long as you're well."

Fritz frowned. "I heard about your little fainting act yesterday," he said to her, in a voice of mock-sternness.

"Her _what?"_ Klara demanded. Fritz bit his lip, mildly amused. So Franziska hadn't thought to tell Klara – or rather, she had, and deemed it unnecessary. Obviously not wanting to cause a panic. She should know that didn't work by now.

"Ana fainted yesterday," Miles said quietly. "At the airport. She was overcome by the heat, and by her stress. She's quite alright."

"Her stress?" Klara repeated. "Miles, what would you know of that?"

"I..."

"Did you know, for example, that when Fritz was brought into hospital, you were the only one she wanted to talk to? Because you were the only one who could relate to her and her loving, kind father?" Klara asked. She ignored her sister's flinch beside her as she went on. "Did you know that she failed her first attempt at the bar exam a few weeks ago, and wanted your support as well as Franziska's?"

Miles' eyes widened. He turned to Ana, but she was determinedly looking away from all of them. Klara wasn't finished.

"Did you know, Miles, how much she panicked when she heard some lawyer had been brought up on murder charges in LA without any knowledge of who it was? Did you know that she needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn't her parents or Franziska, and you weren't there?"

"Klara," Fritz interrupted. "Stop it. You're not helping anyone. You can't take everything out on Miles, and you can't use Ana as a scapegoat for your own feelings like that. I know you're upset, love, but you're upsetting everyone else, too."

Klara looked ready to argue. Then she sighed, and nodded. "Yes. You're right. I'm sorry, Miles. I'm just..."

Miles nodded. "It's quite alright," he replied. Then, to Ana. "The bar exam?"

"Yes, I failed it." Ana turned back, reluctantly. "But I shall try again in a few months. I don't want to talk about it just now. Tell us about your trip."

"My...trip? Well, I was away helping Wright with his new 'project'. A jury system. I have to admit, it was incredibly clever. And we caught our man. I specifically requested to be kept in the background, but from watching, the attorney he has working for him is _very _good. And the prosecutor, Gavin..." - Ana and Franziska both looked up at this - "...his dynamic with Justice is amazing. They remind me of..." he trailed off.

"Yes, that's the business side. But go on, Miles, tell us more," Fritz encouraged him. "Did you confess your love with gay abandon? Pun very much intended."

"Friedrich, if you weren't already in hospital..." Franziska muttered, earning a grin for her efforts.

"...yes," Miles muttered. "In a sense."

The room went very still.

Fritz, unsurprisingly, was the first to recover. "You did?"

"I, eh, got drunk," Miles admitted, looking embarrassed. "And I...I, um...I told him."

Klara blinked. "You told him."

"Yes."

Franziska snorted, derision etched across her features. Ana, however, grinned. "What did he say, Onkel Miles?" she asked.

Miles shifted, looking uncomfortable. "He, erm. He said...that he...um..."

"Are you _stuttering, _Miles?" Fritz asked, entertained. "How unlike you. Let me guess, he said he felt the same way?"

"Yes."

More silence.

"So when do we finally get to meet your new boyfriend?" Fritz asked, trying to dispel the disproportionate bad atmosphere.

"He's not my-"

"Fine, your _partner, _then."

"No. Wright and I...we aren't going to...there's nothing. Nothing. We talked, and decided that it wasn't feasible," Miles replied, clearly indicating an end to the topic.

* * *

Six days later, Fritz was allowed to come home, with strict instructions to rest for the foreseeable future. Ana was back to studying, Miles was helping her out with that, and Franziska had three cases on at once. Klara was pleased to see her family, all back together again for the first time in a while, but couldn't help but feel mildly disappointed that her brother was still, in a sense, alone.

Twelve days after Fritz was released from hospital, Phoenix Wright called Miles' phone. He was put on speaker, at Ana's insistence – she wanted to hear the man everyone had made such a fuss about – and the family listened as he thanked Miles for his help. He told him how someone named Thalassa had undergone her operation and how it had been a total success. He told Miles how he had introduced Thalassa to his daughter, Trucy, and how she and Apollo now knew everything. And then there was a pause.

"Spit it out, Wright," Miles said, a faint smile on his face.

"You, uh, know we had that talk?" Phoenix asked after a little hesitation.

Miles coloured slightly, looking ready to switch off the speaker. "Yes," he replied.

"Well, you said that nothing was ever...I mean that we couldn't...I mean that...that you didn't want..."

"Yes, Wright, I remember."

"Well. Thalassa and I have been talking, and we think it's a good idea if, you know, since we're both single, and for Trucy's..." he trailed off. Nobody could miss the guilt in his voice as he was speaking.

A sound of annoyance and the crack of a whip interrupted the sticky silence as Franziska stormed out of the room, clearly furious beyond words.

"W...was that Franziska, Miles? Am I on speaker?"

"Ja, du bist, du schreckliche Mann!" Ana cried furiously. Neither of her parents even attempted to stop her. "Bist du böse oder einfach nur dumm?"

"I don't understand..." Phoenix started.

"Ach, Lassen Sie uns allein, Herr Wright," Ana replied, disgusted, as she followed her aunt out of the room. A moment or two of silence later, her parents followed.

"What just happened, Miles?" Phoenix asked.

"Congratulations, Wright," Miles replied. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."

* * *

A few weeks passed, with Miles insisting that he and that everything was fine. The incident with the phone was not mentioned again, and Phoenix and Miles continued to talk through phone calls and letters as though nothing had happened. Phoenix kept asking Miles to come back to America, but Miles kept refusing, a new excuse every time.

Exactly four weeks to the date of Phoenix's announcement, Klara was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud howling which was unmistakably coming from Ana's Feenie. She sat up, instructing Fritz to stay where he was and tying the dressing gown beside her bed around herself. She hurried out of her bedroom, where she met Miles and Ana both rushing for the stairs. The three looked at each other briefly before hurrying down to the kitchen where the dogs slept.

The sight that met them would haunt Klara for weeks to come, and the other two for longer still. Ana burst into tears immediately, while Klara felt her own eyes welling up as she whistled for Feenie to come away. As the old Border collie plodded over, Ana sank to her knees and threw her arms around his neck, burying her head in his fur as she sobbed. Klara put a hand to her mouth, feeling her own tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. And Miles...

Miles just stood there, blankly staring at the sight of his beautiful dog, of his truest friend, lying dead on the kitchen floor.

* * *

None of them could say, later, how they had known that Pess was dead straight away, and not just asleep. It was as if the aura of life left her. She was buried in the grass, about fifty feet from the main building, near where the servants' quarters used to be, in a sort of impromptu graveyard that the servants themselves had set up as their own pets had passed away.

Miles was distraught. His grief was as real as it had been when Klara had first known him, after his father died. Here was she, Pess, the one living being he could truly tell everything to – Klara did not try to fool herself into thinking she had this honour – taken from him without much warning. It was clear to her, to them all, that he simply did not know how to cope.

In addition, there was Feenie. The poor dog was used to his company, the snooty, stuck up, golden collie that he'd found so fun to tease. He was grieving too, whining long into the nights. Ana was worried that he wasn't eating properly, and she was right. She took him to the vet, eventually, who told her sadly after much examination that there was no cure for a broken heart. He offered, to be 'kind to the old chap', to put him to sleep, but Ana simply would not hear of it.

The dog spent a lot of time in Miles' room after that. While Miles had never been much more than disdainful towards the hyperactive dog, just as his Pess had been, they now had something very much in common.

It was many weeks before Klara stopped hearing her brother crying in the night, or the dog's whining to accompany him.

* * *

With Pess gone, Miles was much more subdued than he had been in a long time. Klara began to worry that he was once again sinking back into his depression, but when she tried to talk to him about it, she was simply told not to concern herself.

Fritz tried to talk to him, and Ana. Even Franziska made some attempt, showing just how bad it had gotten.

"Really, Miles. I understand you are upset, but it was a dog." She'd clearly been trying to help, in her own way.

"She was more than just a dog, Franziska," Miles had replied quietly. "She was my friend. My companion. I appreciate that this sounds ridiculous to you, but..."

"This isn't just about Pess, is it?" Franziska had interrupted, impatient. "This is to do with him."

"Him?"

"That foolish fool of a defence attorney you so foolishly fell for."

Klara, who was sitting nearby with a newspaper, glanced up at this, but quickly looked back down as Franziska caught her eye.

"No, it is not," Miles replied sharply. "It was I who told him that I did not have any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship, and that while we both did have uncessesarry feelings, that those would fade. Ana's reaction, and indeed yours, was entirely unneeded."

Franziska was obviously frustrated now. "So you claim to no longer have feelings for the fool?"

"I do."

She snorted. "You listen to me, Miles Edgeworth. You may well be able to lie to Phoenix Wright, and maybe even to yourself. But your foolish lies will _never _work on me." With that, she got up and left.

Klara hesitated, then approached her brother, who was staring at the fireplace. "Miles?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Klara," Miles replied, making to get up.

"Please?"

Miles regarded her for a second, then sighed, sinking back into his chair. "What?"

"Do you love him, Miles?"

Miles blinked at her. "I...What do you mean by that?"

Klara smiled. "Do you care about him, more than you thought would ever be possible? Does he make you happy, just by existing? Oh, and I bet he irritates you. More than anyone else ever will, because the fact is he's the only one you'll forgive everything of. No matter how long you spend with him, you need to spend more time with him, because forever isn't long enough. All you want to do is to make his life, his existence, happy – because he's one of the main reasons for yours." She stopped. She'd gotten carried away.

Miles stared at her. "That is love?"

"Yes," Klara replied, cursing herself for making it sound so ridiculous, so fairytale-esque. Miles would never buy into that. Not in a million years.

"Then yes. Yes, I love him."

Klara was stunned. Miles was carefully not meeting her eyes, but he was being honest with her. It was more than she could have asked for. "Then...why?" she asked quietly.

"For him. He has a family to care for, Klara. A daughter, a boy who may as well be his son...there's no room in his life for me, not anymore. Not really. And I...I am okay with that. My selfishness does not need to affect everyone."

Klara found her eyes, once again, filling with tears. "Oh, Miles," she said, putting her arms around him. He did not respond to her hug, but he did not pull away. "Don't you think he's proven, so many times, that you're simply wrong?"

"What?"

"He wants you in his life, Miles. He's proven that since you were only children. He kept writing, remember? No matter how many times you didn't reply, he kept it up. He even became a defence attorney – his whole _career – _based around the fact that he could meet you again. You, Miles Edgeworth, need to open your eyes. He loves you, Miles. He loves you at least as much as you love him. And you've never given him so much as a chance to show it."

She watched as Miles' eyes widened. She could tell he was thinking, thinking back. To his time with Phoenix at school, to the time Phoenix had saved his life from her father, to every little time in between and afterwards. She watched as a tear ran down the side of his face, quickly to be wiped away. He nodded. "But I'm too late," he said quietly. "Far too late. He's with this woman now, and..."

Klara kissed her brother's forehead, and squeezed his hand. "It's never too late, Miles," she said. "I promise."

* * *

**German: "Yes, you are, you horrible man!"  
"Are you evil or just stupid?"  
"Leave us alone, Mr Wright."**

**Apologies for errors in the above.**

**How depressing. Please review :3**


	11. Finality

**Last chapter but one, guys. If anyone has any requests for my writing, missing scenes from or spin-off of this or other AA stuff, please do ask. :3 I repeat, one more chapter to go~**

* * *

**In Which There Is Finality**

* * *

The phone call came at eight in the morning, when Klara was halfway through the first page of her latest manuscript. A polyphonic version of The Guitar's Serenade - there was no accounting for Miles' taste in music - interrupted Ada's description of her poor lonely life so far. Klara put down her pen, calling out for her brother to come and answer his phone.

It was Ana, however, who came into the room, toothbrush still in her mouth, and picked it up. "Hallo, dies ist Ana. Onkel Miles ist im Augenblick beschäftigt. Kann ich Ihnen helfen statt?" she mumbled, her voice cheerful through the toothpaste.

Klara heard a frantic voice on the other end of the phone, and saw Ana's expression change. She got to her feet, heading over to her daughter as she began to speak again, switching to English as she did so.

"What is the matter, Fräulein?" Ana was asking anxiously. Klara didn't bother to correct her English, something else was clearly the matter here. Ana made eye contact with her mother, and waved her away with one hand, mouthing to her to go get her uncle from his study. Klara hesitated for a second, then hurried off, leaving Ana to deal with the hysterical girl on the other end of the line.

It took roughly 22.53 seconds for Klara to arrive back in the main room, pulling her brother by the hand. Ana, looking relieved, said something soothing to the girl on the other end of the call and handed the phone to Miles. She took her mother's hand, half-dragging her out of the room. Ana knew her mother's tendencies to listen in far too well not to.

* * *

"Well?" Klara demanded as soon as she and Ana were on the other side of the wooden door.

"It was Trucy Wright," Ana replied, frowning. "Phoenix Wright's daughter. He's missing or ill or _something. _I don't know exactly what's wrong, but she sounded totally hysterical. She said she had found Onkel Miles' number in her Papa's phone list for emergencies. Can I drive Onkel Miles to the airport? I haven't had a chance to use my license properly yet."

Klara's mind was reeling. Not this. Not now. Not _again. _She marvelled at the calmness in her daughter's voice as she was speaking, and heard the blatant anxiety in her own as she replied. "We don't know if he'll be going to the airport yet, Ana," she said briskly, trying and failing to hide the high-pitched worry in her tone.

Ana raised an eyebrow, a half-smirk appearing on her face. "Really, Mama. The smallest chance that Phoenix Wright is in trouble, and Onkel Miles would grow wings and fly there _himself _if he could. I'm going to go upstairs and get dressed. Can I take your car?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ana turned and headed for the staircase. Klara opened her mouth to protest, then sighed. What was the point, she wondered, in protesting? Ana was right. Her brother would be panicking in three...two...one...

"Klara!" Miles' voice echoed through the wooden door.

* * *

Miles was on a jet to LA within about 36 and a half minutes of him ending the call. Ana was happily driving back from the airport, the cheerful aura around her at odds with the panicked one surrounding her mother on the seat beside her.

"I'm sure he's fine, Mama," Ana said, her voice mild as she switched on the indicators to show she was turning right. Klara didn't respond. Ana sighed, flicking the indicator off again. "Really, Mama. Herr Wright is a big boy now. There's absolutely no need to..." She trailed off as she felt a vibration on her seat followed by the tinkling sounds of The Guitar's Serenade. Miles had left his cellphone? Luckily, he had about three more, but Ana couldn't see this helping Klara's mood..

She reached over to it, despite her mother's protests that she should keep her hands on the wheel, and switched the speaker on.

"Hallo?" she greeted.

"Is this Ana again?" asked a bubbly voice in English with a cheery American accent. Ana only barely recognised it as the girl who had been sobbing hysterically less than an hour ago. "Listen, Apollo's unconcious on the couch, so it's more quieter. Klavier says I should call you up and apologise. I mean, Daddy _was _missing! Just...I knew where he was. And, well, yeah. Hope I didn't panic you."

"..."

"What's wrong?"

Ana looked at her mother's face briefly as she pulled the car into the side lane. Klara's mouth was quite literally open in shock. Ana couldn't help but to let out a snort. "Nothing's wrong, Fr-er, Trucy," she replied in English. "So your father isn't hurt in any way?"

"Nope! He'll be home in an hour or two."

"Are you aware my Onkel Miles is on a jet plane right this second?"

A pause on the other end of the line. "Ana?" Trucy asked, her voice hesitant. "Is your Uncle Miles in love with my daddy?"

Ana glanced sideways again. Klara was looking even more surprised now, and it was she who answered. "Yes, he is, dear. Can I ask-?"

"Excellent!" Trucy interrupted. "My plan's _totally _going to work. Later, guys!" There was a click, and the connection was terminated just as Ana pulled in to the estate. There was silence until the car stopped and both women looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

"What do we do?" Ana asked finally. "Call his other phone on the offchance that it's on?"

Klara seemed to ponder it. "No," she said finally, a devilish smile appearing on her face which both scared and fascinated her daughter. "No, let's allow Miles to sort this out himself. Let Trucy Wright put her plan into action. There's nothing much we can do, is there, dear?"

* * *

Phoenix had, it transpired, split from Thalassa Gramarye about a month after they got together. Trucy had apparently not minded too much; Thalassa had gotten together with Trucy's Uncle Valant (no blood relation), and that was all good. Her father, however, had been beginning to worry her. Then Trucy had come across a picture of Miles and Phoenix from eight or nine years ago, and a new plan had begun to form in her twisted little mind.

This, Ana knew due to her now-regular telephone conversations with Trucy Wright. It was an odd friendship they had struck, but Trucy had called her to talk about the Gavinners not long after Miles had arrived in America - a week ago, now - and Ana had been hooked the second Trucy had told about the relationship between her brother and the star. Her need for gossip to share with her Tante Fran far outweighed her moral conscience, so when Trucy told her about the Plan to do with Phoenix and Miles, Ana had no qualms about swearing to secrecy until it all came to a head. Miles, too, was apparently sworn to keep quiet - he was fully aware of the Plan by this point, but in none of his phone calls had he let on to Klara, Fritz or Franziska what was going on.

"See, as soon as I saw the pink suit and ruffles, I knew," Trucy told her.

"It isn't pink-" Ana protested automatically, but was interrupted.

"Anyway, the Plan is coming together as we speak! I'm watching them just now."

Ana frowned. "I thought you were in Herr...Herr Gavin's office?"

"Yeah, but, I set up a camera. In a fridge magnet! They're having a 'talk'. Hey, you really like Klavier, don't you? Hey, Klavier! Get over here and talk to Ana!"

"Trucy!" Ana objected loudly, going a deep red. Feenie looked up from where he was curled on the floor at her feet, giving her a look which clearly said "_Let sleeping dogs lie, woman."_

"Nein, Fräulein, no can do. I'm busy at the moment, and Herr Forehead isn't working against me on this one, so I don't have to let the defence win. Es tut mir leid," came a voice in the background, making Ana pause and blush just to hear it.

"Hey!" protested another man's voice, sounding flustered. So that must be Apollo Justice, then.

"Guys, shut up, I'm on the phone!" Trucy called, completely missing the hypocrisy in her own words. "Sorry about that, Ana. You should totally come meet them sometime! The bar exam here is soon; Daddy's retaking it. Didn't you say it wasn't coming your way for another six months? You should come do it here!"

Ana laughed. "There is no way my mother would let me..." she started to explain, before she was once again interrupted.

"THEY DID IT! ANA! I HAVE A NEW MOMMY."

"...what?" Ana asked, before what she had actually heard registered. "Wait...you mean...Onkel Miles...?"

"Ja, baby!" Trucy replied enthusiastically, gaining a loud laugh in the background, presumably from Klavier. "I'll talk to you later, Ana! I gotta call them!"

"Won't they be a bit sus-" Ana started, but she was speaking to a dialling tone. Sighing, she pressed the disconnect button, then stood still for a moment while the new information processed. She assumed, now that the Plan was done with, she was allowed to share the results.

Her mother was, to use the terminology she had picked up from Trucy lately, going to _freak._

* * *

As Ana had predicted, Klara did indeed "freak" when she heard the news, calling Miles straight away. The phone was answered by none other than Trucy Wright, who politely informed her that she'd taken Miles' phone out with her after she'd returned home and her daddy had given her money to go see a movie with her brother. She'd added, as an afterthought, that Miles would not be able to answer the phone anyway, regardless of where it was, because he and her daddy were busy making up for twenty-something years of lost time. On the off chance that Klara needed more clarification, she added "In bed" as a finisher to this statement which left Klara red in the face, to say the least.

As a matter of fact, it was Fritz who first spoke to Miles, entirely by accident. He answered the ringing phone on the way out of the door with Franziska - his work building and the prosecutor's office were in the same general direction, much to his sister-in-law's chargrin - and had been delighted to hear his brother-in-law on the other end of the line.

"Well _hello, _you dark horse of manliness, you! How are you?" he asked, fully aware that Franziska would tolerate two minutes maximum of his camp tone before she attacked.

"Hello, Freidrich," Miles replied wearily. "Is Klara there?"

"She's out walking Ana with the dog. Or the other way around. Something like that. So tell me! How many times? And locations! In bed? On the floor? In the shower? I dunno how it would work for you gay types on a chair, but..."

Fritz could actually feel the glare he was receiving over 5000 miles away, doubly intensified by the one from under 5 steps away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Miles replied, his mildly flustered and stiff in the effort to hide it.

"Don't be coy, Miles! Did he take you roughly in the back seat of-Ow, Missy, that hurts, you know."

Franziska lowered her whip, picking up the phone from where it had been dropped. "I apologise for his foolishness, Miles," she said. "Klara should be home in a few hours. We will speak later Yes. Yes. Goodbye."

"Waaaait!" Fritz grabbed the phone. "Miles! One more question! Please!

"_What?" _Miles demanded, exasperated.

"Are you a giver or a take-OW, dammit, Missy!"

* * *

Klara was informed of her husband's depravity when she arrived home, and both she and Ana - and Franziska's whip - made a point of reprimanding him for it. Only after this was done would Miles concede to talking to them about his relationship at all. It was, as it turned out, going very well. Despite Miles' reputed awkwardness with children, he found it very easy to think of Trucy Wright of his daughter very quickly, something which pleased Klara a lot.

For the first time in a few years, Klara also got to talk to Detective Gumshoe properly. He was married now, it seemed, and had a son of about two years old. He had spoken to her chiefly to assure her that he'd keep an eye on Mr Wright and make sure there was no funny business, because he was thrilled to have Miles back in the country and didn't want him to leave. Again.

And so, the happy life of the Wright-Edgeworth-Von Karma-Kirsche-Justice-Gramarye-Gavin (the last name added grudgingly) continued.

About a month passed. The atmosphere in Miles' phone calls was now one of - not worry, exactly, more anticipation. The bar exam was next month, and Phoenix was resitting it.

Meanwhile, Klara noticed her daughter growing quieter and more pensive, especially whenever the latest bit of excitement was mentioned. She had, Klara knew, lately broken up with some boyfriend or another - one of those foppish types that girls just went gaga over, so it may have been that. But Ana had gone through more difficult breakups than that one - she had been the one to end it with this particular boy, who couldn't keep his hands to himself - and been less down than she was now. Klara didn't want to bring it up with Ana, but at the same time, she was worried. In her desperation, she turned to Franziska for help.

"She talks to you, Franziska," Klara pointed out. She, Fritz and Franziska were in the sitting room, while Ana was supposedly at the moment out walking her old dog and therefore had little chance of interruping them. "Has she mentioned anything? Is it about this boy?"

"I told you she was too young for boyfriends," Fritz commented mulishly.

"No, it isn't," Franziksa replied, a faint smirk on her face from Fritz's words. "Isn't it obvious? She wants to go to America. To check up on her uncle, sit the bar exam, finally meet Phoenix Wright and to meet Klavi-that foolish fop of a rock star she is always talking about.

"Absolutely no way," Klara said firmly. The sound of the door opening and shutting could be faintly heard in the background, but they all ignored it. "Quite apart from anything, where would she stay? Miles is living with Phoenix now; she couldn't stay with him."

"Actually," Franziska contradicted, "It was Trucy Wright who formally invited Ana to stay with them for a year or two. Given the reliability of the girl, from past experience, if this turns out to not be a possibility she could still say in Miles' empty property, or even in my own residence over there."

Klara stared at her sister, her mind simultaneously seeing the logic in and disagreeing with what she was hearing. "But she's too young!" she protested. "She's not-"

"Can I interrupt?" Fritz asked, his voice unusually mild. Both women stopped talking and turned to look at him. "First of all; Jellybean, sweetheart, please come in and stop standing at the door like that. You're not being subtle, we all know you're there."

There was a pause, then the door creaked open, and Ana walked in. She had a whole mixture of emotions on her face - there was slight shame at being caught, hopefulness at the conversation topic and defiance at any trouble she would find herself in."Thank you, Jellybean. Second, Klara. I understand your reservations, love, but you can't say anything about Ana's age. Franziska was less than a year older than Ana is when she went over to America alone, officially, for the first time."

"Yes, and I didn't like that either!" Klara shot back, amazed. Her husband was taking the entirely opposite view from what she'd expected. "You want her to go, Fritz?"

"I'm right here, Mama," Ana reminded her, her voice quiet as she spoke.

"It's not that I want rid of her. I think we all know that my Jellybean is most definitely Papa's little girl. But I just can't see, logically, any basis in your arguments. She wants to go study, and meet her family overseas, and meet the man she's been obsessed with for about half of her life."

"I don't like these rock star types," Klara muttered, annoyed.

"Please, Mama, Herr Gavin is..."

"Gayer than your little brother," Fritz finished his daughter's sentence. "Klara, sweetie, I'm sorry, but I don't see why she can't go."

Klara's frown deepened. She looked from one face in the room to another, and sighed. "Ana. You really want to go?"

"Yes, Mama. A lot."

"Then...okay. I'll let you go."

Silence in the room. Then-"Really, Mama?" The smile on Ana's face was wider than Klara could remember seeing on the girl for a long time.

"Yes. Now go and pack and unpack again six or seven times or something. It's what you tend to do on our trips."

"You really mean it?"

"Go, Ana. Before I change my mind."

Ana kissed her mother's cheek before hurrying out of the room. Franziska got to her feet, shot a brief, rare smile at her sister and followed her niece out of the waited until the door shut then sighed, burying her head in her hands. "I know I'm not being sensible, Fritz, but our daughter means everything to me. I'm...I'm scared about her going anywhere without us for such a long time."

She heard her husband rise from his chair and stand in front of her. "I'm scared too. But you know that old saying, right? 'If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever.' " Fritz said gently, prising her hands away from her face and pulling her to her feet. He put his arms around her and she buried her head into his chest.

"That's what worries me," Klara muttered into his shirt. "What if she doesn't come back?"

Fritz smiled, pushing her gently away to look into her face, kissing her gently on the mouth before answering. "She's a member of our family, Klara. You should know this by now; it doesn't matter how much you try to get rid of them, or vice versa. We keep coming back."

* * *

Ana left two weeks later, promising to write every week, and have her cellphone with her at all times. Accommodation was sorted, she told her mother and her aunt excitedly as she was bouncing up and down in the back seat of the car on the way to the airport. Trucy had invited her to stay in their house - "I'm going to be living with two of the world's greatest defense attorneys! And Onkel Miles!" - and she would be working with and of the Wright and Co Law Offices - "The Wright Anything Agency, Mama" - first as a paralegal, and then as a lawyer in her own right. It had been arranged so that she would be picked up at the airport, by none other than one Mr Klavier Gavin, at Trucy's request to the former star.

When Franziska heard this, she frowned. Klara and Ana were both most amused to see the jealousy in the woman's features, as well as how she tried to disguise gabbled a goodbye to her aunt and mother when they arrived at the airport, insisting they did not follow her. She slammed the car door and rushed into the building, not looking back.

Klara and Franziska looked at each other when she was gone, both opening their mouths to speak and then stopping. Franziska stared at her sister for a few second, then reached into her pocked and drew out a handkerchief. "She will be fine, Klara."

Klara started, then accepted the cloth, wiping her eyes. "I know she will, Franziska, but..."

"I..." Fransizka started, then hesitated. "I am nervous for her too. But she will be with our little brother. They will take care of each other - although, part of me thinks that Miles needs the care more. And...if Ana was my daughter...there are few people I would trust to care for her more than Mr Phoenix Wright."

It was Klara's turn to stare. "Who are you? What have you done with my sister?"

"If that is repeated to anyone, especially Miles..."

"There you are, Franziska," Klara interrupted, laughing through her tears. "We missed you."

"Very funny. Just drive."

There was a silence as Klara took one last look at the airport building, resisting the urge to go inside with everything she had. She turned the key in the ignition, put her foot on the pedal, and paused.

"Franziska...thank you."

"Just...drive." Franziska did not look at her, instead opting to continue looking out of her window. But Klara could see the smile on her sister's face as she replied.

* * *

It was quiet, Friedrich concluded, with a feeling of satisfaction at his own deductive skills. Without Ana, without Miles, the huge estate which he, his wife, his sister-and-law and the dog lived in may well have been empty. Franziska didn't talk much any more, and it wasn't difficult to see why that was, or where it was leading, but Klara hadn't quite noticed yet. Klara herself wasn't speaking much these days , except during her designated phone times, when she'd chat with a vengeance to either her daughter or brother, depending on which one was willing to put up with her panicking that day. Phoenix was much quieter, too, for such a loud dog; the poor old boy still wasn't over the loss of Pess so many months ago, and with his Ana gone too, the poor collie didn't know what to do with himself except bother Fritz to feed him treats that he wasn't allowed.

The dog was getting fat.

Fritz opened the gate leading to one of the side entrances to his home, staring up at the huge building as he did so. It was such a big place, for such a small family. The four of them - three of them, really; Franziska wasn't likely to stick around for much longer - seemed barely to make a dent on the vastness of the mansion which had one belonged to the infamous prosecutor who had been Fritz's wife's father. Without Ana's downbeat cheerfulness (being a teenage girl, she was exceptionally gifted at being an oxymoron), without Miles' happy cynicism (with all his angst, Fritz reasoned, he may as well be a teenage girl), the place seemed like...

"Like my Klara must have felt growing up, huh, Feenie?" Fritz mused, pulling at the leash to make the old collie follow him up to the door. Phoenix looked at him reproachfully, as if in complete disagreement with everything he was saying.

Fritz pondered further as he entered the house, calling out a generic greeting as he let Feenie off his leash and listening to it echo off the walls. Having grown up in a family of so many children, company was Friedrich's solace. He was a happy, upbeat person in general - Miles' word for that was 'annoying', and Franziska's was much less pleasant - but that was only in the company of people. On the rare occasions when he was alone, and truly, these occasions were rare, the side of himself that he didn't like would appear. It wasn't bad, no, it was lonely, and that was worse. Fortunately for Fritz, his deep fear of loneliness was never met. He'd always had someone to go to, someone who'd loved him...

Fritz walked into the living room where his wife was sitting, staring vacantly at the fireplace. She looked up as he entered, giving him a weak smile. "Franziska is going," she said, her voice deceptively calm. "She's already on the plane, by now. She's bored here. She wants to check up on Miles, and to punish that 'foolish fool of a friend', the gentleman named Larry, for the passes he keeps making at Ana, apparently."

"That," Fritz said, sitting next to her, "Or she just needs to escape from here."

Klara made no reply, continuing to just stare at the fireplace. How must it have been, Fritz wondered, to have been her growing up? To have nobody but a father who despised her, an old servant who was still strictly under her father's orders, a mother and then a step-mother for so short a time that they may well not have existed at all, other than to bring Klara and her sister into the world? As a thirteen year old boy when they met, Fritz had never been able to comprehend the sheer scale of what his friend was living through. A sister who thought that it was wrong to be happy, a brother who didn't even have a chance...and here they were again, all leaving her.

"Klara..." Fritz started, unsure what he was going to say. He was saved the hassle, however, as Klara spoke.

"You remember Lucinda, Fritz?" she asked. "Franziska's mother?"

"Vaguely."

"She told me something once, when I was upset about how she was going to go away and leave me when the baby was born. She said 'a family is only as close as its members'. I didn't understand what she was talking about at the time, but it seems relavent now, doesn't it? Because Franziska, and Miles, and Ana...they're going away for now, but that doesn't mean they're actually leaving us, does it? It doesn't mean I'm losing them."

Fritz smiled at his wife as she turned and looked at him, the hope in her eyes evident as she willed him to agree with her. "If anything, Klara, we're going to have a bigger lot. We've got Wright and his daughter, the girl's brother and the girl's brother's man to add to the list, as well as my parents, and my brothers, and their wives and kids and grandkids. How are we ever going to fit them all on our Christmas list?" he teased.

"Oh, don't worry," Klara replied, smiling back."I have my own plan for that."

* * *

The months passed by - September ended, October came and went, November followed and soon enough, December had arrived and almost passed in its eternity.

"It was three days before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring except the good man's wife," Fritz grumbled as the light being switched on in the bedroom woke him up again. "What are you doing, Klara?"

"I'm looking for our decorations. Go to sleep."

"It is four in the morning!"

"Exactly! You should be asleep!"

"So should-" Fritz began to argue back, then stopped.

"Why are you doing this now?"

"Because they're arriving tomorrow, Fritz," Klara replied impatiently. At Fritz's tired, confused look, she explained herself "Miles, Franziska, and Ana. Back for the holidays. With Phoenix, Trucy, young Apollo and, little as I appreciate it, Klavier Gavin."

"...what?"

"Well, Ana wanted to come home for Christmas, and Miles has business to finish here. Gavin wants to see his family, but he also wants to spend Christmas with Justice, and Trucy wants to spend Christmas with her whole family, and, well..." Here Klara trailed off, looking mildly embarrassed.

"And you want to meet Phoenix Wright," Fritz said, smirking despite his tiredness. His smirk broadened as he watched Klara blush and nod. "Well, come to bed just now, Klara. Have them help when they arrive tomorrow. They're family now, after all, aren't they? They'll have to get used to this sort of thing. I'm sure, if you have your way, this won't be the last time we see them."

When, an hour later, Klara had finally given up and taken his advice and was lying with her head on his chest and her arms around him, fast asleep, Fritz reflected on the conversation. So they were visiting tomorrow, were they? That was good; he missed his Ana and his sister's siblings, and he himself had a strong curiosity to meet the man who had changed Miles to who he was was with a slight laugh he reflected on his reasoning. He had only said what he did to make Klara come back to bed. It was amusing to know that he was right. He smiled as Klara shifted against him, mumbling in her sleep. This had been her 'own plan to deal with that'? Truly amazing, he thought, thinking of the new family he suddenly was part of, how easily a skilled woman could make things go her way.

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**I'll repeat again, one chapter to go. Thanks for reading, reviews make me happy~ :3**


	12. The End

**I'd just like to thank everyone for reading, and I hope you've all enjoyed this fic for as long as it's been written. This chapter is more of what we would call an epilouge, so, with that in mind, please read on.**

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**In Which There Is The End**

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_Hello, Papa,_

_I don't suppose I can say that I ever expected to be writing this letter, anymore than I suppose you, where ever you are now, could have ever expected to recieve it. It's a cold Christmas day and here I am, with my family, visiting you. Don't ask me why we're here - because the whole family is - but I felt an overwhelming urge to let you know exactly how life has been since you've been gone, which is why I'm here, at your memorial stone, with this letter._

_Franziska has already paid her respects to you. My sister is doing very well for herself. She's changed a lot in the fifteen years since your arrest. Still prosecutiing, and still insisiting on perfection mind you; that part of her hasn't changed. But Franziska's idea of perfection is different now to what it used to be. The perfect trial is the one where the innocent are free and the guilty are discovered. Whether this means a loss or a win, nowadays, Franziska makes a point of making sure it happens. She's travelling, still. Thirty-two years old, she is now, and as dedicated to her job as ever, if not more so. I am truly prouder of her now than I've ever been, and I make a point of telling her this every time I see her.  
_

_Speaking of pride, Miles has been a great source of it to us. It took him a long time to shake off the damage you did to him, Papa, but he did it. This was partly to do with me, I hope, but I think that a lot of it had to do with his wonderful partner. I'm sure you remember him; the defence attorney, Phoenix Wright. Well, they both made our lives very complicated for a while. It was years before they finally got together. But they're living in America now. Phoenix, still going strong as a lawyer after gaining back his badge, and Miles, still prosecuting. Their court battles are always amazing to watch, when I get the chance. Phoenix is still running his "Anything Agency", with the aid of their daughter, Trucy, when she is not on a tour. She is only just twenty years old, and she's singlehandedly already managed to bring Troupe Gramarye up from the ashes._

_Her brother, Apollo, is also still a defence lawyer, still happily working at the agency with his sister and her parents. He doesn't live with them anymore, though; he moved in with Klavier after the wedding (which was Klavier's idea, of course). They now live there with their two-year-old girl, a girl produced by surrogacy named Selene who has to be the most spoiled toddler I have ever laid eyes on. Selene, tiny thing that she is, is doted on by everyone, including her older "cousins", who enjoy treating her as their baby._

_Leon and Lucinda - named after Franziska's mother, bless her - are Ana's children. She was only twenty when they were born to her and her American husband, Jake. Being only a year older than Selene has had no effect on their babying of her, which is possibly a result of the significant size difference between them. Ana and Jake, who happens to rather resemble someone I've already mentioned (coincidence, I'm sure), live two states away fro the others, so only meet up with them slightly more than Fritz and I are able to see them. Ana has made quite the name for herself in the States as an attorney, and is often the family's only source of income as her partner attempts to kickstart his singing career._

_Fritz and I are fine as we are. We don't often get lonely, despite having this huge mansion all to ourselves. Franziska is home much more than she ever used to be, and there is always one visitor or another. Fritz's brothers, their wives and their children, as well as his parents, often pop in for a visit, occassionally overnight. And around the holidays, especially Christmas, the whole of my side of the family tends to visit for the duration. It's really getting difficult sometimes to cram everyone in!_

_I must leave it at that, Papa. Lucy and Leon are arguing over who gets to hold Selene's hand, and this kind of thing often requires a grandmother's touch to sort out. _

_I shall leave you with but this: know that I am happy. I have a brother, a sister, a husband and a daughter who love me, not to mention the numerous family which has developed around them. My family and I are stronger than a lot of families I know, and we are more successful in our chosen paths than many could ever hope to be. I cannot even say that I hate you, Manfred von Karma, because it is partly due to your schemes that I have everyone and everything that I do to begin with.  
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_Even you will have to admit, father; my successes are considerable for such a disappointment._

_Goodbye_, _Papa._

_Klara._

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_**Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers so far. As I stated last chapter, any requests would be appreciated. However, of this particular story, this is the end.**

**Thanks for reading, and goodbye for now~  
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